


Dream Walking

by HixyStix



Series: 2020 Kalluzeb Appreciation Week [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amputation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Magical Star Wars Medicine, Whump for the sake of character development, Zeb does not approve, as usual Kallus is a self-sacrificing idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 62,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HixyStix/pseuds/HixyStix
Summary: Zeb and Kallus have dreamt about their first meeting for years.  It seems obvious that they're supposed to be archenemies, but is that what fate intends?
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Series: 2020 Kalluzeb Appreciation Week [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714975
Comments: 140
Kudos: 248
Collections: Kalluzeb appreciation week 2020.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fills the "Soulmate" prompt for Kalluzeb Appreciation Week 2020.
> 
> For my beta, whiplashcrash, who worked as hard on this fic as I have and is possibly the most pleasant person in the world to work with! She has always been there with encouragement and a willingness to brainstorm and headcanon when I need help. I couldn't ask for more from a beta or from a friend.

Of _course_ it kriffing happened when Zeb least expected it, in the worst possible way.

He had, quite literally, grown up dreaming of the day. This, the exact moment he met his soulmate, or rather _battled_ his soulmate.

Zeb wasn’t young and innocent anymore; he had long since come to terms with the fact that his soulmate was of the ‘sworn enemy’ variety, rather than a ‘fated lover.’ He’d lost that sort of idealism and hope back when Lasan fell.

After all, what good could come from his life after _that_ happened?

All Zeb wanted anymore was to fight the Empire, hurt them where he could, and keep his new family safe. He didn’t really have time to worry about soulmates and potential happy endings.

Still, that didn’t mean he was ready when the ISB agent stepped forward, spinning a bo-rifle – he had to have stolen it, the bastard – and shouted at him. “You! Lasat! _Face me!”_

Here was Agent Kallus, then, the man Ezra had described from his brief Imperial imprisonment. From the sneer on the agent’s face, Zeb could only figure he had no problems being nemeses with him.

That was just fine in Zeb’s opinion.

He ran at the Imperial and extended the ends of his own bo-rifle. The weapons met with a clang, sending a shock through Zeb’s body. _Wow. This bastard is almost a match for me._

Zeb pressed the attack until he knocked Kallus to the ground. “Only the honor guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle!” he growled.

“I know! I removed it from a guardsman myself!” said the agent, sounding much more cheerful than he had the right to be. He leapt to his feet and Zeb once again gained the upper hand. Kallus walked backwards and spoke as if he were imparting a great secret. “I was there when Lasan fell. I know why you fear those disruptors. _I_ gave the order to use them!”

If he’d been trying to piss Zeb off, it worked. It was as if the agent _knew_ – and maybe he did – that nothing would anger Zeb more than taunts about the genocide of his people. _Knew_ the guilt and rage he still carried all these years later. Zeb roared and struck out with his bo-rifle, barely missing Kallus’s chest.

Kallus managed to come back from Zeb’s furious attack, kicking him in the chest and knocking him backwards. Twice in a row, the Imperial struck him with the end of his bo-rifle, the golden electricity coursing painfully through his body.

The ground shook as explosions set off somewhere behind him. _Sabine_ , thought Zeb.

That was just enough distraction for Kallus to cement his advantage. He thrust his bo-rifle into Zeb’s chest, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to his knees.

Zeb looked up at Kallus, realizing that this was it. They’d just met and this man – his kriffing _soulmate_ – was about to end him. The smile on the agent’s face showed just how much he was enjoying the victory, too. Zeb’s ears drooped in defeat and he looked at the human’s feet, waiting for the final blow.

“ _No!”_ cried Ezra.

_Too late, kid._

But it wasn’t. Inexplicably, Kallus flew backwards, slamming against the closest rock formation.

Zeb couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t make sense of _anything_ at the moment; the bo-rifle had done a number on him. He collapsed, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

He must have blacked out for a moment because the next thing he knew, Kanan was holding his head up.

Oh, right. Kanan. Kanan must have Force-shoved Kallus away from him. Zeb couldn’t quite open his eyes, but he reached out, gripping his bo-rifle tightly. He allowed Kanan to help him to his feet and limp into the _Ghost_ , falling to the floor of the hold as soon as Kanan let go.

He knew the others were around, he could smell them, but he didn’t realize they were staring at him until Sabine quietly asked, “Will he be okay?”

Zeb groaned shakily. That battle had really knocked everything out of him and he’d be hurting for while, but… “Yeah,” he said. He stood, with help, draping an arm over Kanan’s shoulder. “Thanks, mate. Appreciate the save.”

To his shock, Kanan answered, “Wasn’t me.” He sounded a little surprised himself. “It was Ezra.”

Zeb’s eyes widened and he frowned at the kid. He didn’t know what to say. Ezra just smiled and nodded.

“And Ezra, your _formal_ Jedi training starts tomorrow,” Kanan continued.

Huh. So the kid was going to stick around after all. Maybe, with _two_ Jedi on the crew, things would go more smoothly from here on out.

Nah. They weren’t that lucky.

Zeb crashed into his bunk with a loud groan, grateful the others weren’t witnessing his pain.

He had a lot to think about. His fighting technique, for one – beaten by a _human_ with a _lasat_ weapon? Shameful! – but there was also the ISB agent himself.

Ever since he was a kit, he’d dreamt of that meeting. The dreams started out fuzzy, just blurry motion and impressions, but as he grew, the images sharpened until he could see everything about the scene but his actual soulmate. It was _déjà vu_ in the worst way, actually experiencing it, finally seeing the man he was tied to through fate.

Fated to battle until one of them killed the other, it seemed.

Most people got friendly soulmates: family members, lovers, best friends. Garazeb Orrelios had never been ‘most people’, however, and had accepted from his teenage years that he wouldn’t have that kind of life.

He just hadn’t imagined he’d get _such_ hatred from the other man. Such eagerness to kill him at their first meeting.

Zeb tried to think of a way he could have mistaken things, that perhaps his soulmate was one of the stormtroopers and not the vicious Kallus. Anyone would be better than Kallus.

The thing that bothered him the most was that Kallus hadn’t seemed to respond to him at all, to recognize the situation. According to Kanan, humans also dreamt of their soulmates, so Kallus _ought_ to have known who he was. He simply didn’t care.

Of course, it never occurred to Zeb that _he_ hadn’t reacted out of the ordinary either.

There was a knock at the door. Zeb turned his head and sniffed. _Kanan._

“C’mon in,” he said grumpily. He didn’t really mind Kanan visiting – he was usually able to help Zeb sort things out – but _stars_ , he still hurt.

“You wanna tell me what happened out there, buddy?” Kanan asked, sitting on the edge of Zeb’s bed.

Zeb’s ears twitched as he thought about how much he wanted to tell Kanan. Soulmate stuff was pretty private, especially in Lasat culture, but he wasn’t on Lasan anymore, was he?

He sat up as much as he was able, scratching behind one ear. “So, uh, you know soulmate dreams, right?”

Kanan quirked an eyebrow. Of _course_ he did; Zeb knew he and Hera had dreamt of each other for many years. They tried to hide it, but it was painfully obvious to anyone who paid attention.

“I don’t know if I ever told you, but mine are me fighting with them. And, uh…”

Kanan was perceptive as always. “Agent Kallus?” he asked calmly, not using the angry tone Zeb kind of expected from everyone at this revelation.

“Yeah.”

Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, Kanan nodded. “Okay. So obviously you two aren’t ever going to be friends. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Zeb repeated dumbly. “I mean, I knew it wasn’t gonna be pretty. I just didn’t think it would be _that_ ugly. You heard what he said?”

“About Lasan? Yes.”

“This ain’t right, mate.” Zeb shook his head and sighed. “Maybe it is, I dunno. Maybe I should have expected that someone like _that_ was gonna be my soulmate. Why else would we fight when we met? It’s not like I’m just mistaking his character.”

“There’s any number of reasons it could have happened that way,” Kanan pointed out calmly.

 _Eh._ Kanan was right, but Zeb didn’t really want to admit it. He grunted.

“Zeb.” Kanan tried to catch his eye, but Zeb didn’t cooperate. “ _Zeb_. Whatever happened, it’s not your fault your soulmate’s a dianoga dropping. _You’re_ still a good person.”

Zeb huffed and rolled over on his bed, turning his back on Kanan. The Jedi got the hint and left him alone in his bunk, sulking.

As soon as he reached his office in the Lothal Imperial Complex, Kallus started studying the Spectres. He’d known them as the local troublesome Rebels, but now to discover that his soulmate – his most fervent enemy – was part of their group?

It made him want to bring them in for justice even more passionately than before, which required intimate knowledge of all five of them, their ship, and their droid.

Maybe once he succeeded in capturing them, he’d have a chat with Garazeb Orrelios, former Captain of the Lasan High Honor Guard, current Spectre-4. He’d see how this dance of theirs would play out.

The answer was, frankly, obvious: the only way their story could end was one killing the other. No other option was plausible _or_ desirable. He was sure Orrelios felt the same thing about him. How could he not, after what Kallus said during their fight? They were diametrically opposed in nearly every possible way, from value systems to histories.

Kallus wanted nothing more than to face Orrelios in combat again, in a fair fight with no Jedi. Just the thought of it sent his blood pumping. He’d met no one else in the Empire who carried a bo-rifle or studied its usage, so the lasat was his only equal. And, in due time, the lasat would also become the first honorable kill he’d had in a while.

He’d seen Orrelios again when the Spectres interrupted the Empire Day celebrations and ran off with the wanted Rodian Tseebo. Kallus took some perverted pride in the fact that they’d eluded the Grand Inquisitor, too; it wasn’t just him who had problems with the Spectres.

Kallus didn’t escape admonishment, however. Grand Moff Tarkin had choice words for both him and the Grand Inquisitor.

Despite the fact that as ISB, he was technically outside the Grand Moff’s chain of command – and so was the Grand Inquisitor – he took the lecture calmly, acting embarrassed by his disappointing behavior as necessary.

He _was_ embarrassed, to tell the truth. He’d never had any of his quarry escape him for so long, not even that thrice-damned deserter Solo, but he’d die before admitting failure in front of the Grand Inquisitor. The pau’an had regarded him with nothing but disdain since his arrival and Kallus bristled at the treatment.

He was better than that. He was smarter, more cunning than the Rebels. He just didn’t have their damned luck.

But luck ended at some point.

Of course, the next time they met, an escape pod door slammed shut behind Kallus, shooting him into space over Geonosis with one very angry lasat, and it occurred to him that maybe it was _his_ luck that had run out.

Five hours ago, he and Agent Kallus were at each other’s throats, but now, looking down at the man sleeping in his lap, Zeb didn’t know what he was doing anymore. To be honest, Zeb also wasn’t quite sure where they were in relation to the other, but it certainly wasn’t as antagonistic a place as before.

He didn’t know how to process that, or the fact that he was freezing himself to keep Kallus alive. What was he doing?

_He’s your soulmate. Of course you care._

Zeb snarled silently, warning that sneaky voice in the back of his mind to shut up.

There was some truth to it, though. There, huddled around the meteorite beneath their sheltering overhang, Kallus had confessed to a lot, particularly about Lasan. How he hadn’t _known_ , hadn’t meant for it to be that bad. Hadn’t meant for it to be a genocide.

Just a few weeks ago, before they’d re-discovered the path to Lira San, Zeb might have reacted poorly to Kallus’s admissions, might have pressed the man to show even more remorse. Now, though, he just imagined the picturesque city full of lasats he’d visited. It wasn’t home, not really, but it had the potential to be. There was hope again for his people. He hadn’t failed them all, in the end.

So Zeb had dismissed Kallus’s roundabout apologies with a wave of his hand. “What happened on Lasan, it’s over for me.”

And to his surprise, it was. He’d been able to look at Kallus without hearing the man’s cruel gloats echo in his head.

“So’s this it?” Zeb had asked suddenly. “Are we supposed to be enemies? I thought so, but neither of us are getting out of here alone.”

Kallus’s face had gone blank, slowly transforming into a strangely open expression. “I don’t know,” the man had said. “The logical thing would be to get off this moon and then resume our feud as if it never happened. We _are_ on opposite sides of a war.”

“Yeah,” Zeb said slowly. “We are. But…” He trailed off, unwilling to follow that line of thinking any further. He deflected. “By the way, it’s Zeb. M’name, it’s Zeb.” 

Kallus gave him a knowing look. “Short for Garazeb. I know.”

Of course he did. The bastard probably knew everything in the public record about all the _Ghost_ crew.

To Zeb’s surprise, Kallus had continued, speaking almost shyly. “I’m Alexsandr. No one calls me that, but you ought to know.”

Zeb had chuckled. “Thought your first name was Agent.”

The edges of Kallus’s mouth had twitched upwards in an almost smile. “It might as well be.”

In the present, Kallus mumbled something in his sleep and shifted in Zeb’s arms.

 _We still ought to be at war,_ he thought. _We’re enemies, in every sense of the word. But he’s not just Agent Kallus anymore, is he? Can I kill Alexsandr Kallus, who is sorry about what happened to Lasan?_

Zeb really didn’t know and that thought troubled him more than anything, even more than the thought that they might die together on this Sith-forsaken ice ball.

As the sun came up, shining brightly into the little overhang, Kallus stirred. He jerked awake, suddenly remembering where he was and who he was with. He still hurt all over from yesterday’s gymnastics and the parts of him that weren’t pressed against Zeb were numb. Briefly, he worried about frostbite, but it was too late now. If he had frostbite, he had frostbite.

Outside their shelter, the wind was still whistling– wait. No. “That’s a ship,” he said, surprised.

“Yeah, but whose?”

Kallus startled; he hadn’t realized Zeb was awake too. To Kallus’s continued surprise, when Zeb stood, he offered a hand to help Kallus up.

“Come on,” the lasat said.

Kallus gripped Zeb’s oh-so-large hand with both of his and pulled himself up. Both his legs protested – one from injury, the other stiff from sitting up all night. Zeb held him up as he got his footing. Together, they walked towards the sound of the ship.

The ship came into view and Kallus felt his stomach drop. “Ah. Your friends did find you.”

“Like I said they would.” Zeb turned to Kallus. “You know, we will treat you fairly.”

Kallus laughed shortly. Zeb’s friends might be fair, but the Rebellion at large would try to break him for the information he knew. “I’ll take my chances with the Empire… Zeb.” The nickname felt strangely and unexpectedly familiar in his mouth, as if he’d already said it a million times.

“So this is it,” Zeb said, looking disappointed. “We’re back to normal.”

 _Nothing_ was ever going to be normal again. “Yes, we are,” Kallus lied.

Zeb closed his eyes and covered a fist with his hand, bowing a little; a lasat sign of respect, Kallus guessed. He returned the gesture.

“Until next time,” Zeb said with a smile. “Try not to die before I get to ya, okay?” With that, he jogged towards the _Ghost_ and his friends.

Kallus watched as Zeb was greeted enthusiastically by his friends, ushered into the warmth of the ship quickly and with care. Something deep inside Kallus yearned for that sort of reaction from his fellow Imperial officers, but he couldn’t expect that. Gratefulness for his safe return, yes, but not actual happiness.

He hobbled back to the transponder and the overhang, taking as much heat as he could from the glowing meteorite. Someone would come get him.

Soon.

He hoped.

The trader that picked Kallus up was kind, though Kallus thought some of that might be fear of angering an ISB agent. He let Kallus contact the Empire to inform them of his survival and they were instructed to rendezvous with Admiral Konstantine near Lothal.

Kallus paid the trader for his fuel and time out of his own accounts. He had precious little to spend his salary on, anyhow. 

He hadn’t expected a party upon his return, but the complete lack of acknowledgement from anyone when he was finally back on the Star Destroyer took him by surprise.

Disappointed, he went first to the med bay and received bacta treatment for mild frostbite – “ _It’s amazing this isn’t worse; you must have had something warm with you”_ – and a scan for his leg. As he suspected, his femur was cracked but not completely broken. He accepted a cast to go under his uniform to help it heal without being further aggravated, but rejected the offer of crutches. He’d rather be seen walking stiff-legged than with an aid; he needed his reputation to stay the way it had always been.

He’d sent a private ahead to his quarters with his bo-rifle, but for some reason Kallus held onto the meteorite, still relishing its warmth. He’d never realized how cold a Star Destroyer really was.

Once he was discharged from medical, he limped back to his room. At one intersection, he almost ran into Admiral Konstantine himself. He greeted him, expecting a welcome back.

“Agent Kallus,” said Konstantine drily, not even bothering to look up from his datapad before walking off.

Kallus stood there for a second, stupefied. He’d honestly expected more of a reaction than that. He’d been missing for over a day and the Empire had left him for dead – but now he was back! Shouldn’t that mean something?

Apparently not. Kallus made the rest of the trip to his quarters in silence, gripping the meteorite tightly.

The door slid open to his… _home_ , if you call it that. Everything was boxed up, ready for quick transport to another ship or station. Nothing personal sat out, not even a holo of his family.

Sighing, he sat on his bed, fiddling with the meteorite. Medical had recommended sleep, to let the bacta patches on his leg work unencumbered, and Kallus did feel a weariness like he never had before. Setting the meteorite on his small shelf, he laid down and tried to rest.

At first, sleep eluded him. He kept opening his eyes, expecting to find Zeb in the room, but finally, he drifted off. Unsurprisingly, Kallus dreamt of the moon.

> _“That is the order of things. The strong survive, the weak perish.” Kallus limped back to the warmth of the meteorite._
> 
> _“Is that what happened on Geonosis? The weak needed to perish?” Zeb asked disdainfully, getting in Kallus’s face for the last few words._
> 
> _“The only thing I know about Geonosis is that the population is gone,” Kallus said calmly, refusing to be intimidated. “I never asked questions.”_
> 
> _“Well, maybe you should start. Or are you afraid of the answers you’ll get? Afraid you’ll learn the Geonosians were wiped out by your precious Empire?”_
> 
> _Kallus looked away. He had wondered that, but it was not his job to ask questions. He was to obey and to smash any spark of rebellion amongst the people. To remind the who was in charge. He couldn’t be a source of rebellion himself._
> 
> _He quit asking questions soon after joining the ISB; life was safer and more straightforward that way. Everything he did had a purpose. Everything he did was for the greater good._
> 
> _So why did that simple line sting so sharply?_
> 
> _He couldn’t admit any of that, of course, not to Zeb. To anyone. In the Empire, to question aloud was to commit career suicide, if not actual suicide._
> 
> _Recovering, he met Zeb’s eyes again. “And_ why _would we do that? What could_ possibly _be the point?”_
> 
> _“Ah. Good questions.” The lasat looked pleased. “Chase the answers and maybe you’ll learn the truth.”_

Someday, Kallus would look back and pinpoint that as the moment everything changed. He’d been prepared to fight Orrelios. He’d been prepared for some sort of mutual survival situation.

He hadn’t been prepared for Zeb to make him _think._


	2. Chapter 2

Zeb kept the full story of his time on the moon – Bahryn, he learned it was named – to himself. Oh, he gladly told stories of single-handedly fighting off the lizard-bird-things and of his climb out of the cave, but he didn’t mention Kallus.

No need to add that complication to his public life. It was enough that Kanan and Hera knew he and Kallus were soulmates; he didn’t want to answer everyone’s inevitable questions about what he and Kallus talked about or why he didn’t force the agent to come back with him. It would have been easy if he’d tried, what with the way Kallus was injured. Zeb told himself it was only a repayment of his debt to Kallus for saving his life and twice choosing not to shoot him when he had the chance.

 _Not exactly a great friendship, but, well, you gotta start somewhere,_ Zeb thought. _Not killing me is as good as anything we’ve had so far._

‘Friendship’ was a tricky word, though. Zeb didn’t really _want_ a friendship with Kallus. He didn’t want to be his enemy anymore, but he didn’t want to get any closer. He really wanted the whole thing to go away, so he tried to ignore it.

It turned out to be harder than Zeb would have guessed to ignore Kallus, even when they were halfway across the galaxy from each other. To Zeb’s great annoyance, he started dreaming again.

The dreams were of Kallus, of course, but not of their first meeting. In these dreams, he _was_ Kallus. Zeb only got brief images and impressions, nothing that told him any real information, but he saw Kallus’s face in the mirror, looking tired and haggard. A starkly empty bedroom. Gloved hands typing at a holonet terminal. Soundless conversations with various Imperials Zeb didn’t recognize. Sitting by himself at a long table, staring at a ration bar. And, to Zeb’s surprise, holding the meteorite from Bahryn with surprisingly tender care.

 _Is this… stuff Kallus is doing? Or am I just making this up?_ Zeb wondered. He oh-so-casually asked Kanan if he still had Dreams-with-a-capital-D of Hera now that they’d met and had gotten a strange look.

So, that was probably a no.

Why the Force was Zeb dreaming of Kallus again? They’d met. They’d even talked like civilized beings and that had been a stretch for them both.

What else did the galaxy want from them?

It was strange to find that, since he was forced to think of Kallus, he thought of him with something other than hatred now. Zeb might go so far as to say he felt a little pity for the man. He clearly was intelligent and clever, but was so blindly loyal that he missed what was right in front of him. What sort of life was one where you never questioned your circumstances?

Zeb didn’t get it.

But then, he supposed, he didn’t have to. It was up to Kallus to decide if he would start asking questions or not. Zeb had done his part.

_Something_ had happened to Geonosis.

That much was obvious to anyone who visited the system, Kallus knew. And his quiet inquiries since his return had given him the information that a large project had been moved from there seven years before.

It also told him the project had been headed up by Orson Krennic.

Krennic was known amongst the ranks of the ISB for his delusions of grandeur and high ambitions, so the likelihood was that the project was huge.

Odd that Kallus hadn’t run into it before, or that he couldn’t find anymore references to it in the material he was cleared to access.

 _“Maybe you’ll learn the truth”_ kept echoing in Kallus’s head, Zeb’s gravelly voice both an irritant and a comfort. Annoyingly, Kallus found himself thinking of Zeb more and more often as time passed.

The reason was obvious, he told himself. He was following Zeb’s advice, so of course the lasat was on his mind. It didn’t make the memory bother him less.

It was an itch under his skin now, one he couldn’t scratch away. The only way to assuage it was to keep digging, to spend his free moments in the archives at the Lothal Imperial Complex.

He was noticed, of course, so he tried to change things up. One week, he moved up to Konstantine’s Star Destroyer and spent time in the ship’s Communications archives, going through any and all references made to Geonosis back when the project was supposed to have been moved.

Of all people, Konstantine himself found Kallus there, instead of an aide.

“Agent Kallus,” he said. “Communications informed me you’ve been here a lot. I trust you are on the trail of our troublesome Rebels?”

“Trying to be, sir,” said Kallus, shutting off the holographic display. “Did you need me?”

“We’ve been summoned to the surface by Grand Moff Tarkin.”

“Again?” Kallus asked. “We just met with him last week.”

Konstantine shrugged and left the room.

That was the longest conversation Kallus had had with the admiral since his return from Bahryn.

Before the ice moon, Kallus probably wouldn’t have noted such a thing. He would have been too focused on the job. He wouldn’t have been in Communications enough for his to be behavior noticed in the first place, to be honest.

But Bahryn happened. Garazeb Orrelios happened.

And to Kallus, Zeb was _still_ happening.

He’d been avoiding sleep ever since his return, getting only the minimal amount to do his job without his consistently above-board performance being affected. It wasn’t the best way to live, but it was an efficient way to deal with his problem for the time being.

The problem was that the little sleep he did get was _filled_ with Zeb. Images of him walking around various planets and ships, what Kallus imagined must be the migrating Rebel base. Often, in his bunk on the _Ghost._ Reading sometimes, talking other times, being by himself most of all.

He couldn’t get the damned lasat out of his head at night. Trying to focus on other things just made the matter worse; Kallus swore the less he thought of Zeb during the day, the more he would see him at night.

It was _supremely_ irritating, but eventually Kallus realized there was nothing he could do.

Until there was something he could do.

In the last month since Kallus’s return, Admiral Konstantine was adamant they were going to catch the Spectres.

So far, there’d been near radio silence about the rebel cell. Then, suddenly, a swift attack on Horizon Base on Pammant.

Well, Kallus had to admit, it wasn’t really an attack. It was an effort to get fuel that went smoother than it should have; that fact was obvious to anyone who following the investigation of the event. Still, when the admiral called it an attack, everyone called it an attack.

That night, Kallus dreamt of a new droid, an AP unit, its programming being checked and some carbon scoring cleaned away by careful, purple, hands. The dream was clear enough that Kallus could read the droid’s operating number, despite an amateur attempt at destroying the marker.

AP units were left over from the Clone Wars, often used on Imperial ships in the present. Kallus assumed that Zeb must have gotten his hands on one during the fuel raid.

Kallus could use that sort of information. AP-5’s designation and operating number gave him something trackable. 

Cautiously, Kallus used a secure data line to trace the droid’s location. No sense putting this sort of thing on an official channel until he knew that it would work.

A single world came up as a result: Atollon.

_Atollon._

Kallus looked it up. Still located in the Lothal sector, but no inhabitants. It was noted in Imperial scans as barely habitable, with hard-to-reach water reserves and an arid climate, and generally undesirable because of local wildlife. Presumably, the Rebels had found some way to avoid those pitfalls.

Shutting down the secure line, Kallus leaned back, wondering what he needed to do with this information.

The obvious thing would be to take it straight to Konstantine, if not Tarkin himself. Finding the Phoenix Cell’s base would be a huge blow to the Rebellion, as well as a boon to his own career.

But the main problem would be explaining _how_ he’d found the base. He wasn’t a Sith Lord or Inquisitor that he could claim Force visions. He’d have to explain his connection with Zeb and there was no way that would end well, for him or for Zeb.

Hells, just the fact that he was still referring to the lasat as ‘Zeb’ was a problem, as was his continuing concern that their soul bond would be discovered.

Kallus tried to come up with ways he might have plausibly discovered the Rebels’ location on his own, without the assistance of the soul bond or Zeb himself. There were too many holes in the plans to follow through with any of them, though.

Alexsandr Kallus was nothing if not determined. He’d figure it out. He’d figure it out and– and then warn Zeb to get out somehow.

No, he wouldn’t. Zeb chose to be a Rebel. He’d chosen his fate. Kallus couldn’t change that.

It didn’t matter if he wanted to or not.

“Bloody blazes, Ezra, what is this?” Zeb picked up a holodisk, holding it upside down to see if that made the image on the front any better. _Do Rodians really contort like that? Is that… are those chains?_

It didn’t.

“It’s just padding,” Ezra protested. “Look, there, underneath. The food supplies Hondo promised us.”

Hera studied a couple disks herself. “You’ve got to admit, Ezra, this is one strange way to smuggle food past an Imperial blockade.”

“It _worked!”_

“It worked all right,” Sabine agreed. “But what are we going to do with all these holodisks?”

“Be fair,” Wedge said. “These aren’t just holodisks. These are trashy romance holodisks.”

Hera grinned. “ _Old Republic_ trashy romance holodisks, at that. I would swear these are banned by the Empire.” She stared straight at Ezra. “Which brings me back to my point, Ezra: why would Hondo use something illegal to smuggle us something legal?”

Ezra shrugged. “It’s Hondo. Why does he do anything?”

Zeb rolled his eyes. “To screw with us,” he grumbled. “I don’t like that pirate.”

“I _do_ ,” said Ezra firmly. “He’s never gotten us into trouble that he hasn’t helped us out of.”

“The getting us into trouble part is the problem,” Sabine pointed out.

Hera tossed her holodisks back into the pile. “Well, we’re stuck with them for now. Someone put them in storage. Let the pilots know there’s new reading material if they’re bored and shameless.”

Zeb was pretty sure none of Hera’s pilots had enough free time to be bored thanks to her well-deserved reputation as a drill instructor, but they certainly were shameless at best and downright obscene at worst. These disks would probably be read – aloud – a thousand times over before the week was out.

He frowned at the holodisk in his left hand. A highly stylized human Jedi knight stood there, robes blowing revealingly in the wind, lightsaber in the air, two scantily-clad human women clinging to his legs. _Coruscant Knights_ , the title read. “I don’t think ‘bored’ is the right word there, Hera.”

The glare she shot him shut Zeb up instantly. He threw his disks back on the pile as well. “Ezra, you put them up.”

“Hey, I’m the one who got them here. Someone else can put them up.”

With a scoff, Zeb took a step closer to Ezra, towering over him without much effort. “You set up the deal with Hondo. That makes them your problem.” He stared down his young roommate, refusing to let up until Ezra sighed theatrically and relented.

Stopping behind him, Hera said softly, “You know he’s leading his first mission here in a few days. You could cut him some slack.”

“Or I couldn’t.” Zeb chuckled. “C’mon, Hera, he deserves to be teased a little for this.”

“Fine.” She patted his back with a light hand. “Just make sure he does the job right, okay?”

“You got it.”

As the others scattered, all pretending they hadn’t seen the holodisks, Zeb watched as Ezra first delivered the foodstuffs to the kitchens and then threw all the disks into a crate.

“Need help with that?” Zeb offered.

Ezra waved him off. “You told me to do it. I’m doing it.”

Zeb followed him anyway, into one of the storage closets in the back of the base, where almost no one went unless they needed privacy for various reasons. They’d only been on Atollon a few weeks, but already stories were being passed around the base about who was found back here with whom and in what compromising positions. Zeb’s only personal experience with the closet had been finding Kanan back here, alone, trying to come to terms with what happened on Malachor. He’d seen no reason to say a word about it to anyone; Kanan gave Zeb privacy, so Zeb wanted to return the favor.

This time, Zeb hung back when Ezra left the supply closet, seeking his own privacy.

He’d been dreaming more and more of Kallus and what Zeb saw was starting to bother him. 

It wasn’t just that Kallus seemed to be constantly working and never doing anything to take care of himself, it was _what_ Kallus was working on. A few nights before, Zeb thought he’d glimpsed a planetary display of Atollon through Kallus’s eyes.

Surely not. There was no way Kallus could have found them this quickly. Unless…

Unless _Kallus_ was dreaming about _Zeb,_ too, which meant Zeb’s position as head of base security was compromised. Which meant they were _all_ compromised. Just what sort of information had Kallus been able to glean from Zeb through the dreams?

There was nothing in the dreams to indicate a plan to attack Atollon, to Zeb’s continual surprise. 

On the one hand, if he were being responsible, he’d report the possible breach and then contain himself in the Ghost for the next moves.

Of course, on the other hand, reporting that they might be in danger – when there hadn’t been the slightest hint of action on Kallus’s part – would expose Zeb to ridicule and social banishment (to say the least) when his connection to Kallus was discovered, not to mention the massive waste of resources a needless move would cause.

Maybe it would be best for all involved if Zeb self-isolated for a while. See if anything came of this dream link with Kallus. After all, for all Zeb knew, nothing in these dreams were real. They _felt_ real, but that didn’t mean anything without proof.

With a sigh, Zeb snagged a few of the trashy holodisks off the top of the pile and headed off to his bunk. Maybe something stupid and poorly-written would help distract him from Kallus.

> _The cold was drowning him. There was no way to claw his way out of this pit. Kallus shivered uncontrollably, rubbing bare hands together. His ISB uniform had never been fashioned to endure these conditions._
> 
> _He tried again, scrabbling at the icy walls of the cave with blunted, numb fingernails, but finding no purchase._
> 
> _It was enough to make him weep. He was going to die here, alone in the dark of a strange moon, and would be here forever, unfound, unmourned._
> 
> _And then a purple hand appeared in front of his eyes._
> 
> _“Hold on’ta me,” Zeb said, his voice a low rumble that echoed in Kallus’s chest. “I’ll get you out of here.”_

Kallus woke with a shudder, finding himself – yet again – covered in sweat and having thrown his one thin blanket across the room. Without its protection, his room was chilly and unforgiving.

Dreaming of what Zeb was doing had been bad enough, but now things had progressed to having nightmares with Zeb in them. Sometimes, like the dream he’d just had, Zeb saved him. Others, he watched as he was unable to do the same for Zeb as the lasat fell to his death or was executed by stormtroopers.

Kallus was sure their soul bond was causing the dreams, but he didn’t know how to fix it. He and Zeb _couldn’t_ reunite, except in battle. There was no other resolution to their connection, not if they both wanted to live.

Well, he would just have to deal with it. Kallus rubbed his eyes, feeling the pressure and pain of the near-constant headache he carried since the dreams intensified. It was bad enough for him – _him,_ who never slept past 0500, even on leave – to want to remain abed and avoid work.

That would be unwise, Kallus knew. He was already acting suspicious enough, just researching the questions Zeb had unlocked. If he changed his behavior more than he already had, even Admiral too-distracted-by-politics-to-command-his-own-ship-effectively Konstantine would catch on and report him back to his own Bureau.

In the meantime, Kallus needed to deal with the much more astute Governor Pryce. She’d stormed in, returning to her homeworld fresh from Coruscant and its many intrigues, ready to stamp out rebellion anywhere it might be found.

Kallus had had that fire, once.

With a groan, he rose. Each day, he kept to the same routine: a sonic and grooming, a fresh uniform, and time spent polishing and caring for his armor and weapons before heading out to face his work. Even if no one watched him, it was safer to continue on that way.

Kallus checked himself in the mirror. On the outside, he appeared to be everything an ISB agent ought to be – put together, in control, strict – but the slight reddening of his eyes told a different story.

If he were lucky, Governor Pryce wouldn’t make any comments about that. It was possible, but not likely, especially since the beeping of his datapad told him he had a meeting scheduled with her in just a few minutes.

“Agent Kallus,” she greeted, cool and collected, unlike her former subordinate Minister Tua.

Kallus blinked, willing away the memories of the explosion that had killed Tua. The explosion _he’d_ engineered. “Governor,” he said pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”

Pryce spoke, barely looking up from her desk. “Good question, Agent. We’ve found a trader who has information about the Rebels, but refuses to volunteer it. I need you to ensure we’ve gotten every last scrap of information he knows before we dispose of him.” She looked up then, catching Kallus’s eye. “I _can_ count on you to do that, can’t I?”

Bristling at the jab, Kallus nodded. “Of course, Governor. I’ll see to it immediately.”

“Very good. And Kallus?” she asked before he could turn away.

“Yes, sir?”

“Go see medical if you’re having trouble sleeping. I can’t have you at anything but top efficiency if we want to succeed here.”

“Yes, sir.” Kallus kept his voice steady, but his stomach knotted at her words. He couldn’t afford to have Pryce on his case. Too much was at stake.

 _Too much?_ he chastised himself. _You’re just trying to save your own hide, keeping the location of Atollon from her. You’re tearing yourself apart trying to save that kriffing lasat. If you were wise, you’d submit it as an anonymous tip and let the system handle the Rebels from there._

Kallus wasn’t wise these days. He saluted the governor, turned sharply, and headed off to do his job. Perhaps this trader would be forthcoming with information if he knew the alternatives to talking. Perhaps, even, this trader would be his ticket to exposing Atollon without risking his own skin.

Deep inside, knowing the thought was wrong, he still hoped that the trader’s information would lead to nothing and Zeb would be safe.

“Hey, uh, buddy?” 

Kanan wandered into the base’s main hangar, where Zeb lounged in his wicker chair, waiting for Hera and the others to return from a mission. Waiting for something to do. Waiting until he was certain he wasn’t going to accidentally sabotage Phoenix Cell by leaking information to Kallus through the dreams.

He sat up. “What is it, Kanan?”

Kanan moved slowly through the crates that surrounded Zeb’s little ‘office’, feeling his way around each one. “You got a chair for me?”

Zeb stood. “Take mine. I need to stretch anyway.” He put a hand on Kanan’s shoulder and guided him to the chair.

“Thanks.” Kanan took off his mask and rubbed at his eyes. Even though Kanan couldn’t see him, Zeb tried not to react to the sight of his sightless eyes.

It was so _weird_ to think of Kanan as blind now. Kanan had always been perceptive, even beyond sight, but to think of him limited like this… it took some getting used to.

“So, Hera sent me,” Kanan began. “I want you to know this was not my idea.”

“Karabast.” 

“Yeah.”

Zeb sighed and leaned back against a crate. “So what sort of intervention are you doing? What did I mess up?”

Kanan reached in the belt satchel he wore and pulled out a holodisk. Zeb’s blood ran cold as he recognized it. “Ezra’s been finding these in your cabin.”

“ _Karabast_ ,” Zeb repeated. “I’ll keep them away from him. He shouldn’t be reading them.”

Kanan quirked an eyebrow. “And you should?” He held the disk up as if he could read the back.

Zeb’s fur rippled in embarrassment. The disk was _Passions of Nar Shaddaa_ , a particularly lascivious tale of human-xeno lust. He’d been reading it over and over again out of sheer befuddlement – he didn’t understand how humans could _like_ some of the things described in the story. Surely it hurt to have sex that way? Surely their bodies weren’t meant to move like that? Surely humans didn’t find aliens quite so entrancing? 

Humans were strange and Zeb, even more strangely, found it oddly fascinating.

“It’s not like there’s a lot of reading material here on base,” Zeb protested.

“True,” Kanan agreed. “And it’s not like this stuff is all bad. I’ve gotten some good ideas from the audio disks to use with Hera.”

“Too much information, mate.”

Kanan laughed, a rare occurrence since Malachor. “Fine. My point is, Ezra’s noticed you reading them a lot. And the ones you’re reading seem to be all human-xeno romances. Is there– Is there something you need to talk about? Because you know, if you have questions about humans, I’ll answer them, no judgment.”

Zeb fell silent. He was pretty sure he didn’t have any questions about humans, besides ‘What the kriff?’

Kanan waited him out.

Sighing dramatically – he tried to exaggerate things for Kanan’s sake these days, since the human couldn’t read his facial expressions anymore – Zeb gave in. “The disks, they’re sheer boredom, Kanan. There’s not a human who’s caught my eye. There’s not anyone who caught my eye. It’s only that I’m not going on missions and it’s getting to me.”

“You’ve been keeping _yourself_ from missions,” Kanan reminded him.

“That’s fair,” Zeb agreed. “Tryin’ to do my job here, I suppose.”

“And you hate it?”

“And I hate it.” Zeb rubbed his forehead. The stupid headache was coming back again, making him think of Kallus. The dreams had been especially bothersome recently – the glimpses of Kallus he’d gotten had shown the man to be in poor health, with gaunt features only barely hidden beneath his mutton chops, bags under his eyes, and hair not carefully coiffed. The man was even less put together than he’d been on Bahryn and Zeb couldn’t help but worry. He couldn’t talk about it with anyone, though, not even his friends.

Kanan stared blankly at him once more.

There was no lying to a Jedi, was there? Zeb crossed his arms, shifting uncomfortably.

“Okay, fine, but you can’t talk about this with anyone, not even Hera. You got that?”

Kanan held up a hand. “I promise. Your secrets are safe with me.”

Scratching his chin, Zeb sought for the right words. “It’s soulmate stuff.”

“You mean Bahryn?”

Zeb startled. “You know about that? I didn’t tell anyone…”

“I know you didn’t, which is why I haven’t mentioned it,” Kanan explained. “But I felt Kallus’s presence on the moon and the effect it had on you.”

“Shoulda guessed that,” Zeb grumped. “But no, it’s not Bahryn. It’s what’s happened after that’s been bothering me.”

“What’s been happening?”

“More dreams.”

Kanan frowned. “Like you have a second soulmate?”

“No. More dreams of Kallus. Seeing through his eyes, nightmares about him. It’s… karabast, Kanan, I’m actually worried about him. _Me,_ worried about _him!_ I can’t get what I’ve seen out of my head. And…” Zeb hesitated, not wanting to say the next part of his theory.

“And what?” Kanan asked, gently prodding.

Zeb bit his lip. “I think he can see what I’m doin’ too. That’s why I’ve been sticking to myself.”

Kanan leaned back. He obviously hadn’t expected that revelation. “That’s… not good, Zeb.” The expression on his face was that of abject worry.

Zeb hated being the cause of that, but he also knew it was warranted.

“I know.” He almost confessed that he thought Kallus knew where they were, but he decided Kanan didn’t need to know _that_ much, at least not until it looked like Kallus would act on that knowledge.

_Am I too confident in Kallus? Is my trust misplaced?_

“What are you going to do about it?” Before Zeb could speak, Kanan answered his own question. “What you’re already doing. You can’t avoid sleep and you can’t risk showing him classified material. This isn’t a great position to be in, buddy. If Hera or Sato knew…”

“You think I don’t know that?” Zeb snapped, fur bristling with irritation. “You think I don’t know I’m endangering everyone every second I spend here? If I were smart, I would leave.”

Kanan held out a hand. “Calm down, Zeb. I’m worried for you, is all. I’ve never heard of a soul bond acting like that, at least not outside of spacer’s tales.”

“I’ve never heard of it, _ever._ ” Zeb forced himself to relax. Kanan didn’t deserve his anger. “I don’t want it. I don’t want to know what he’s doing. I don’t want to find myself _caring_ about the bastard. What he’s done to us… I ought to hate him, Kanan, but I don’t. Not since Bahryn.”

“The stories I’ve heard, it’s because you aren’t letting the soul bond develop. It’s festering.”

“So can I stop it?”

Kanan shook his head. “Only by giving into it. And that’s not possible.”

“No, it isn’t.” Supremely unhappy, Zeb frowned. “Not unless Kallus decides to join us and the universe will end before that happens. He believes in the Empire too much.”

“I know.” Kanan leaned forward, obviously concerned. “Zeb, how can I help you? I can see if I can use the Force to keep you from dreaming, if you’d like me to try.”

“Can you cut the bond entirely? Or at least shut it down temporarily?”

“No, I can’t,” Kanan admitted. “Only a Sith could do something like that. Generally, only a Sith would _want_ to cut a soul bond.”

Well, that made Zeb feel worse. “So I’m on my way to the dark side now, for wanting that?”

“No,” said Kanan quickly. “You’re someone who’s hurting. If you were a Jedi, that would make you a prime target for the dark side, but you’re not Force-sensitive, so you’re safe. It’s okay to feel that way. It’s natural considering all you’ve been through.”

Zeb studied the floor. “Maybe… maybe we can try the sleeping thing. Maybe that’ll be enough.”

As if he knew Zeb had had enough, Kanan stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get this figured out. The others don’t need to know about Kallus, not yet. You just keep doing what you’re doing without hurting yourself.”

Zeb nodded. “Thanks, Kanan. Uh, can you put that disk back with the others?” he asked. “Ezra doesn’t need to be getting his hands on those.”

Kanan grinned. “Just be glad you’re not the one who’s probably going to have to have ‘The Talk’ with him. Too bad his parents aren’t around to handle that.”

“Yeah, have fun with that, _dad_ ,” Zeb chuckled, letting the joke help his mood. Kanan nodded and dropped his hand.

“Take care, Zeb. Come to me if things get bad again, okay?”

“I will. And, uh, Kanan?” Zeb scratched his head awkwardly. “Thank you. For not telling the others.”

“Anything for you, buddy.”

Zeb smiled, but it only lasted long enough for Kanan to leave the hangar. It was nice to have some of that off his chest, but talking about it hadn’t _fixed_ anything.

He’d just have to wait and see if Kanan could help him sleep without the kriffing dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who helped me brainstorm trashy romance titles! I'm sorry I didn't get to use them all. Maybe I'll write a one-shot to go with this that expands on that subplot, hmmmmm.


	3. Chapter 3

Kallus silently fumed as he returned to his room. The civilian casualties at Batonn – so recent, so reminiscent of Lasan and Onderon and all the other worlds Kallus had helped ‘pacify’ – were in no way acceptable, no matter what Governor Pryce thought.

What in the galaxy was the Emperor thinking, bringing _Thrawn_ to tiny Lothal? The Phoenix Cell was irritating, but not on that level, surely.

Kallus waited until the door shut securely behind him before dropping his stoic demeanor. He marveled at himself – six months ago the thought of questioning the Emperor would have horrified him.

But over the last half a year, Kallus had changed. The way others treated him had changed him. Watching Zeb in his dreams had changed him. But most of all, asking questions and pursuing the answers he wasn’t given had changed him.

His personal datapad lay on his bed, drawing Kallus’s eye even as he tried to ignore it.

In a move of audacious private rebellion, Kallus had collected every amount of data they had on Phoenix Cell’s leader, Jun Sato, and through some slow and painstaking slicing – not his best skill, but one that every ISB agent needed to know – he was able to isolate a frequency that would let him contact the man. Once. But once might be all he needed.

 _No!_ He shook his head to clear such thoughts from his head. He wasn’t ready to become a traitor.

‘Wasn’t ready?’ No, Agent Kallus was _not_ a traitor. He would _not_ use the frequency. He would _not_ pass on any information he had. He would _not_ offer further assistance.

Alexsandr, though… Alexsandr was ready to throw away everything he’d earned. Alexsandr didn’t want to be part of the Empire anymore. He couldn’t expect to be welcomed by the Rebels, not after all the things he’d done, but he could still help them. Help Zeb.

 _Zeb_. Zeb who haunted every step he took these days. Kallus was glad Imperial ships were not colorful places; each time he set foot in the Capital City market, purples and greens jumped out at him, bombarding him with thoughts of the lasat.

It was bad enough that he’d started delegating missions which would have taken him out in the Lothalian public eye, at least where he could. He couldn’t avoid _every_ part of his job that made him uncomfortable, but he could avoid a good chunk of it.

Kallus sat down on the bed, hard enough the datapad bounced, sliding to a stop against his leg. It seemed to be singing to him, luring him in.

All he had to do was make that call. It wouldn’t take long and it might do some good. 

It might cost him his life.

What was his life right now, though, but merely trying to survive while doing the least amount of evil possible? If there was ever a reason to sacrifice himself, wouldn’t doing something good for the galaxy be it?

Kallus gently picked up the datapad and entered the series of three ‘incorrect’ passcodes that unlocked his most personal files, including the datafiles on Sato. He glanced around the room, as if someone might be watching. He knew he was safe – he’d personally checked the surveillance wiring in this area to make sure his room stayed on a default loop. He stuck to a schedule enough that it would be hard for a surveillance grunt, stuck watching hundreds of feeds, to notice anything strange about his room.

The datapad lit up after thirty seconds, the delay yet another security measure. Kallus opened the file with the frequency and stared at it, finger hovering over the screen.

He tapped the frequency.

Too late to back out now.

He swallowed the adrenaline and composed himself. He could _not_ sound unsure or hesitant if this was to work.

Half expecting the line to buzz forever, he was surprised when a serious-sounding voice answered.

“This is Commander Sato. Who is this?”

“I might tell you that after I’m sure you’re who you say you are,” Kallus said, slowly and deliberately. There was always a chance his transmission was being monitored, despite all his precautions. “In the meantime, be advised Grand Moff Tarkin has relocated the Seventh Fleet to Lothal. That should free up the ­­­Calamari sector for your activities.”

There was silence on the line for a few seconds. Then: “How can I trust this isn’t a trap?”

 _Good question. Keep asking that and you’ll stay alive._ “You’ll just have to wait and see if my information proves itself.”

“You intend to call back? Provide more information?”

“Perhaps,” Kallus said. “It depends on how you use _this_ information.” One eye on the timer, he tapped the frequency again, ending the call. _Less than a minute. Good. Maybe it went unnoticed._

As if he could hide what he’d just done, Kallus shoved the datapad into a drawer under his bed.

He’d turned traitor. Even if he never contacted the Rebels ever again, even if he tracked down every last one of them and personally killed them, he was a turncoat. He’d be executed if he were ever found out – and he’d deserve it.

Kallus buried his face in his hands, flooded with shame and regret. He’d sworn an oath and he’d broken it. He’d hadn’t broken his word since he was a child and the oath he’d taken… it was so much bigger than a childhood promise. His word – his _honor_ – was worthless now.

The sheer weight of what he’d just done pulled at him. He was drained, shaky, out of energy. He needed sleep. 

But if he slept, he’d dream of Zeb, which wouldn’t help him at all.

 _Unless…_ a little voice in his head said. _Unless you just did what the soul bond wanted. It might ease up on you now._

Was peace of mind – peace of sleeping, rather – worth betraying the Empire over?

No, not really.

_But Batonn might be. Geonosis might be. Lasan might be._

_Zeb might be._

_“There’s a new Imperial spy.”_

The word filtered through the base rather quickly, too quickly for the leadership’s taste. Zeb heard it from Sabine first.

“Good,” he said, leaning back against the bunk he shared with Ezra. _Like I told Kallus, there are more Rebels every day._ “So what’d we learn?”

“Calamari sector’s unprotected. General Sato’s planning a run to rescue some Mon Cala slaves from the Empire. They’d be good allies.”

Zeb hummed agreeably. Freeing slaves was always good in his book. “So who’s gonna head it up?”

“Who else?” Sabine shrugged. “Golden boy Ezra.”

“He’s really on a roll, isn’t he?” Zeb said. “At least we’ve got that going for us.”

“It’ll be better when we have you and Kanan out on missions again,” she said, jokingly punching him in the arm. “Delegate some of your duties and come back on the _Ghost_ with us, where you belong.”

Zeb held his hands up in surrender. “I’m just doin’ what I’m told,” he said sheepishly. _And trying to protect my family. Already lost one to the Empire; don’t wanna lose another._

“Uh-huh. You keep avoiding us like this, I’m gonna have Hera make it an order that you join us.”

“If Hera tells me to come, I’ll come,” Zeb agreed.

“So,” Sabine said, drawing out the syllable. “You haven’t asked me for pencils or flimsi in a while. I was gonna see if you were out and wanted me to pick you up some next supply mission, but it looks like you’re still good.” She gestured at Zeb’s hand.

He looked at it and realized the side of his last finger was grubby with pencil dust. His fur rippled in embarrassment. “Uh. I’m almost out, actually. But don’t worry about me. It’s not important.”

The edges of her mouth twitched. “Not trying to embarrass you, Zeb, but you haven’t shown me anything you’ve drawn since before you got stuck on that moon. You doing okay, seriously? I miss my art buddy.”

Zeb nodded quickly. “Haven’t done anything worth showin’, hardly,” he said. “But you want to do something together, you let me know. I’m still your art buddy.”

Sabine gave him a cool look, reminiscent of her attitude towards him from back when she first joined the crew, before they bonded over his clumsy attempts to draw her out by sketching while she painted. It was apparent she didn’t fully believe him.

“I’m _okay_ ,” Zeb insisted. “Just feelin’ a bit like I need time to myself. Like you, usually.”

Her face was carefully controlled, but Zeb realized he’d said the wrong thing. He shouldn’t have compared himself to her. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m just across the hall.”

“I know that,” he said warmly, trying to recover from his mistake. “I’m really okay, Sabine.”

Relaxing a little, she nodded. “I’ll get you those supplies next time Ezra and I go planetside somewhere,” she said before leaving, the bunkroom door swooshing closed behind her.

Zeb stood there for a minute, half expecting someone else to come check on him, too. He’d had a full six months of the _Ghost_ crew carefully trying to make him abandon his defenses and talk about his standoffishness and was getting far too used to being scrutinized.

He couldn’t talk about his issues, though, at least not fully. He was still being plagued with dreams of Kallus, but the nightmares, at least, had eased off the past couple of weeks. Things were back to something resembling normal. He had glimpses of Kallus’s life in his dreams, the inability to stop thinking of him during the day as he tried to keep from looking at anything too sensitive, and a knot in his gut every time he tried to figure out just _what_ the soul bond wanted from them.

Sighing, Zeb used his foot to open the drawer underneath the head of his bed, the one Ezra knew not to touch under threat of painful death at the creative hands of Sabine and Chopper. Inside sat his two most personal items: his Honor Guard medal and a bag with a handful of dirt and ash he’d picked up before he left Lasan for good. There were also a few holos Hera had taken of the crew over the years, kept dear just in case something happened to this family, too.

Underneath all that, however, was a folder of messy flimsis. Mostly they were covered with attempts at drawing Lasan as he remembered it – the palace, for example, or the tall trees that made up the forest outside his old home – and a few awkward figure sketches that had improved greatly over the years.

On the bottom of the stack were his most recent designs, the ones he refused to show Sabine or anyone else.

The page he pulled out was covered in attempts at drawing human hands.

Kallus’s hands, actually.

Zeb saw plenty of Kallus’s hands in his dreams. Usually the man wore uniform gloves, but Zeb had seen them bare many times as well. He’d thought he’d be able recognize them instantly if he ever saw them in person, from the soft freckling of Kallus’s skin, yes, but also from the scars. Mostly Kallus’s scars were small lines and spots that could have been caused by anything, but there were a few long scars that Zeb guessed must have been from fights. Vibroblades, perhaps, or something else just as sharp and destructive. It would fit with what Zeb knew of Kallus; he might spend a lot of time at a desk, but he also liked to be in the middle of dangerous action whenever he could.

That was understandable, at least to Zeb. He might have limited his own involvement in missions for safety reasons, but he missed being out there. There was nothing like the adrenaline rush of pulling off a heist or otherwise poking the beast that was the Empire.

 _Maybe Sabine is right_ , Zeb reflected. _Maybe it’s time to get back out there. If Kallus was going to act on anything he saw through me, he’d’ve done it by now. Yeah._

Zeb carefully replaced all his keepsakes in the drawer, sliding it shut until he heard the click of the latch. He glanced at the chrono.

Lunchtime. Good, everyone would be in the mess, making them easy to find.

He needed to talk to Hera and Commander Sato about getting back in the action.

Kallus stared down as the holographic image of Tarkin flickered out. The Grand Moff had been furious; the Rebels had successfully made off with thirty slaves from Mon Cala. It was a major setback; the mon calamari and quarren had been destined for Imperial shipyards and repair work on Star Destroyers – something necessary more often these past few months as rebel cells across the galaxy grew bolder.

So Sato _had_ acted on the information Kallus provided – and acted wisely.

Unsure quite how to feel about this, he pulled up the report on the incident.

Ostensibly, he was looking for weaknesses and patterns in the Rebels’ behavior to ensure this would never happen again.

Truthfully, he was doing that, but he was also analyzing the efficiency of the Rebel attack, trying to gauge their strengths so he knew what information to send next.

Kallus rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t had as many headaches since he first contacted Sato, but he’d been thinking too much anyway.

Deep inside, he knew he’d contact Sato again. He’d already found a new frequency that should work. 

The thought, certain as it was, disgusted Kallus. He loathed the way he found it so easy to betray the cause he’d sworn to uphold, no matter how distasteful his circumstances were. No matter how he was ignored unless he was being used. No matter how he knew in his gut that the Empire’s methods were wrong, even if they were effective.

Kallus swallowed. He didn’t need to be thinking about personal moral quandaries now. He needed to do his job or he wouldn’t have anything to pass on to Sato.

He pulled out a pad of flimsi and a stylus and started to make notes, as he usually did, writing furiously as he studied the report. He notated the steps the Rebels had taken, isolating the moments when they’d apparently changed their plans. Rebels were exceedingly adaptable, he knew, which was one of their greatest strengths against Imperial discipline. He’d been able to use that adaptability in the past to lure them into traps, like he had before he’d been marooned on Bahryn with Zeb, but it also made them difficult to predict accurately and consistently.

The thought of Zeb made Kallus’s pause his work as his brain stuttered, temporarily unable to think of anything except striped purple fur and bright green eyes.

It wasn’t like he was fascinated by lasats. With the singular exception of Zeb, all his interactions with the species had been terribly unpleasant – but he couldn’t deny he seemed to keep running into lasats at important times in his life. First the mercenary at Onderon, who cemented his belief in the rightness of the Empire, then the cleansing of Lasan, where he’d demonstrated that belief to accolades from his superiors.

And, finally, there was Zeb, the first lasat he knew by name, who made him question that belief. Abandon that belief, at least partially.

Zeb, his soulmate.

The nightmares were gone, his nights filled with hints as to Zeb’s daily life rather than hypothetical terrors. Kallus wondered if his betrayal had anything to do with it, if his actions were affecting their soul bond or if his personal guilt had simply been assuaged. He didn’t know and there wasn’t anyone he could talk to about it.

He’d take it, however. Sleep came to him easier lately, lasting longer and providing more rest. Pryce had stopped making comments about him needing to go see Medical and Thrawn no longer looked at him as if he were a piece of art to scrutinize. He moved through his routine with ease, concealing his turmoiled thoughts completely.

Or so he hoped. Surely if Thrawn and Pryce suspected something, they would have had him imprisoned already.

 _Okay, Alexsandr,_ he told himself. _Enough distraction. Enough thoughts of Zeb. Get back to work. People are counting on you._

_Which people, though? Tarkin, Pryce, and Thrawn? Sato and the Rebellion? Or just Zeb?_

Kallus shook his head and put stylus back to flimsi, scribbling furiously to make up for his distracted lapse.

Zeb stood around the briefing table, arms crossed, as he listened to Sato describe their next mission objective.

It was more complicated than he would have liked, with precise timing needed to pull it off.

But if they _did_ pull it off, then they would disable an AT-ST plant, disrupting production and making the walking weapons scarcer for the foreseeable future.

Overall, probably worth the effort, but it didn’t sit well with Zeb.

Their new Imperial spy had provided them with nearly everything needed to do the job smoothly, including access codes and factory overrides. The mission had been practically wrapped up in a bow for them.

The information had come to them too easily. 

He might have felt better about this briefing if he hadn’t dreamt about AT-STs the other night. Or rather, dreamt of Kallus studying AT-STs.

It had to be a coincidence, he insisted to himself, but it was no use. Some tiny part of his brain wanted to connect the two events.

No, Zeb didn’t just _want_ to connect the two events. He was desperate to. He wanted to believe, more than anything, that maybe Kallus had something to do with this information getting to the Rebellion. That maybe Kallus was…

 _Stop._ Zeb couldn’t go that far. Believing Kallus might change loyalties was too much of a stretch. There was no way to be certain of any change of heart and trusting Kallus without surety was a dangerous thing. For all Zeb knew, the AT-ST mission was a trap and he’d actually seen Kallus help plot it.

“Zeb? You with us?”

Hera’s voice. Zeb blinked and looked at her. She stood next to Sato, looking a little worried. Around him, others watched as well.

 _Oh, right. My part of this show._ Clearing his throat, Zeb moved on to the next agenda item at the meeting: continued updates to base security measures. They’d all gotten into a good routine over the past months, but Zeb insisted on running drills sporadically to keep people on their toes. If just one person grew lax, it endangered them all.

“We’re gonna run another evacuation drill tomorrow. Just people, not supplies, but be sure your guys know that in the actual event, if there’s time, their help will be needed to load the transports up with supplies and equipment,” he said. Everyone already knew that, Zeb was aware, but it was his job to remind them anyway. “It’ll be a surprise drill, so don’t warn anyone ahead of time. Debrief once you’re in your evacuation transports and afterwards, we’ll meet back here to discuss ways to make it run more efficiently.”

“Thank you. I hope we find the drill goes smoothly.” Sato nodded and dismissed the meeting.

Rather than wait and talk to Hera like he might have usually done, Zeb hurried back to his bunk. Ezra was gone, off doing Jedi training on his own, Kanan was still sulking somewhere, and Sabine had made friends with some of Hera’s pilots. Even Chopper was in the base with AP-5, so Zeb had the _Ghost_ to himself.

He wanted it that way. He’d dreamt again last night, Kallus studying himself in the mirror after a sonic, and Zeb wanted to get it on flimsi. He wasn’t sure why he’d been so dedicated in sketching these dreams, but it seemed to help make them easier to bear. Cathartic, in a way.

Plus, Sabine had picked him up some watercolors – she was determined to get him to paint now that he drew decently well – and he wanted to try them out.

Zeb pulled out his stash of flimsi and a pencil and set to work. Face first – familiar and easy, as he’d sketched Kallus’s profile quite a few times before – and then hair. Hair was more difficult for him, but he was getting the hang of it. Zeb closed his eyes, trying to recall the details.

“Is– is that Agent Kallus?”

Zeb’s eyes shot open in horror. “Ezra? I thought you were gone.”

“I, um. I needed to get something. Uh.” The boy stood in the door, a look of equal horror on his face. “I knew you drew, Zeb, but…”

“It’s nothing,” Zeb said, shuffling the sketch into the stack of flimsi, fur rippling in embarrassment. “Just practice.”

“Okay.” Ezra didn’t sound like it was okay, however, but Zeb did not want to discuss this further. 

Cautiously edging around the room, Ezra backed up to the shelf that held his small helmet collection. He lifted the Imperial cadet helmet and picked up a golden metal pyramid, holding it behind his back.

Zeb frowned. “Is that the Sith thingy? Thought Kanan said you weren’t supposed to touch it.”

“Tell you what,” Ezra said. “You don’t tell Kanan I have it and I won’t tell anyone about your crush.”

 _My what?!_ Zeb’s fur bristled again, in annoyance this time. “Kid, you’d better watch it. You know better than to think that.”

Ezra scratched the back of his head, looking a little sheepish. “It was a joke, Zeb. Look, just don’t tell Kanan about this.”

“That makes me think he _should_ know.” Zeb narrowed his eyes at his young roommate. “Ezra, you know he’ll get back to training you. He just needs to find himself first.”

“When will that be?” asked Ezra. He sounded a little exasperated and Zeb couldn’t really blame him. It’d been a long time since Malachor and Kanan still hadn’t come to terms with losing his sight. Or Ahsoka.

“Have you tried talking to him?”

Ezra laughed. “Have _you_?”

“I have,” Zeb said. “He’s my friend so I’ve tried to check on him.”

“Well, at least he’s talking to one of us,” Ezra grumped.

“You still shouldn’t be using that thing, from what I hear.”

“Yeah? I’ve heard plenty, too.”

Zeb frowned. “Whaddya mean?”

“I mean you talk in your sleep when you’re not snoring like crazy,” Ezra said. “You say Agent Kallus’s name a lot. I don’t know what’s going on but man, you need to get over it. It’s _weird.”_

 _Karabast. How should I explain this?_ Can _I explain this? Is there any way Ezra will be as understanding as Kanan?_ Zeb tried to keep his face neutral, but he was sure he failed. He’d been so sure no one but Kanan could have known about any of that. “Sorry I’ve kept you up,” he said. “It’s just nightmares.”

Ezra stared at him for a minute. “Fine. But if you tell Kanan I have the Holocron, I’ll tell Hera you’re having nightmares and keeping me up _and_ that you’re obsessed with Agent Kallus.”

That was a credible threat. Zeb didn’t like it, but he nodded. “Fine. Try to stay out of trouble, though, will ya?”

“Don’t I always?” Ezra’s voice was back to his normal cheerful tone. He walked out the door and waved. “Take a nap, Zeb.”

_Yeah. Take a nap. Dream of Kallus some more. Sounds exactly like what I need._

“Your confirmation phrase is ‘by the light of Lothal’s moons’ and we’re assigning you the codename ‘Fulcrum’. That is–”

“The name of your spy network. Yes, I know.” Kallus interrupted. “Your trust is not misplaced, Commander.”

“I hope it isn’t. Are you sure you won’t tell me your name? We can have plans ready to help you if you need to get out.” Sato actually sounded worried about Kallus’s well-being.

 _What a strange sentiment. What a stupid thing for me to tell him, too._ “No, that won’t be necessary as long as we keep the line secure.”

“I’ve had my people on Lothal set up a relay station for you. There’s an old tower outside of Capital City. You’ll find the equipment there. All broadcasts from that station will come straight to me under the Fulcrum encryption.”

“I know the tower,” Kallus confirmed. He’d searched it months ago, before Bahryn, before his insane decision to become a traitor, back when he hoped Bridger’s belongings might give him a clue about the Rebels’ whereabouts. “I will send what information I can as I get it.”

“Thank you,” said Sato. “You’re saving lives by doing this, you know. Helping save the galaxy.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, I’ve made my choice.” _The Empire only made my choice easier. I can no longer see their actions as the ‘greater good’._ He decided to try out the new code name. “Fulcrum out.”

Once he disconnected, Kallus leaned back against the wall and set the datapad on the bed next to him, thinking deeply. He was a Rebel now. He was a spy, a double agent.

His ISB training would serve him well in this role, he knew. He was the only ISB agent on Lothal, the only one trained in such things, so the likelihood of him being caught was greatly lessened. He just needed to continue his routines and be particularly careful around Pryce and Thrawn – his biggest threats.

It would be difficult, but he could do this. If _anyone_ in the Empire could navigate these treacherous waters, it would be Alexsandr Kallus.

He _had_ to, if he ever wanted to forgive himself for all the things he’d done in the name of the Empire.

If he ever wanted Zeb to forgive him.


	4. Chapter 4

The anonymous Skystrike cadet was lucky Kallus caught his transmission before any Intelligence officers did. The youth had made a vague attempt at covering his tracks, but calling his skills amateurish was giving him undue credit. The transmission was barely coded, his voice undisguised, and his message gave enough information that even without names, Kallus was confident he could identify the cadets who wanted to jump ship.

Kallus scrubbed the message’s contents from the record and replaced it with a composition of his own devising, one that said the same thing – _We want to defect; please come get us!_ – without the sloppy mistakes, dated to re-arrive in the Intelligence inbox a couple days in the future.

He would have erased the message completely, but Imperial Intelligence would have been able to tell there was a missing transmission – a phenomenon much more likely to draw unwarranted attention than Kallus’s efforts at slicing and concealment. Better to pass the message along to Pryce after it resurfaced and try to do damage control after than to let anyone think he missed a lead this big and risk accusations of incompetence, or worse, disloyalty.

First, though, Kallus needed to visit the Fulcrum tower and deliver a message. Carefully, taking every precaution he could think of to evade a possible tail, he made his way out of Capital City.

Once there, Kallus spoke slowly and clearly into the microphone, knowing his voice would be distorted, watching the holographic Fulcrum symbol float in front of him. “I have information that may help you replace your stable of pilots. There are Imperial cadets at the Skystrike Academy who wish to defect to the rebels. I do not know their names, but they will require some assistance to escape. I suggest you move quickly, before the Empire discovers their intentions. Fulcrum out.”

The comm equipment beeped after he quit broadcasting, indicating his message reached its destination. Kallus leaned back in the chair, feeling a bit of a rush. That had been his first official Fulcrum message. With luck, there would be many more, but he knew that he might have just signed his own death certificate then and there if the Empire was monitoring that frequency.

He was already doing everything he could do to lessen the possibility of being caught, hoping to preserve both his own life and his potential use to the Rebellion. His potential to repent for his actions.

Kallus shook his head. _That’s enough thinking, Alexsandr. Time to get back to work._

He’d given Sato the heads-up. He’d granted them a couple days’ head start. Now to prepare to play his part as an ISB agent while still assisting the cadets’ break-out.

“He said to tell Zeb that they’re even.” Sabine’s confusion was evident in her voice.

Everyone faced Zeb, as if waiting for him to say something.

_Karabast. What the kriff did Kallus mean by that? Of course we’re not ‘even.’ There’s no such thing as ‘even.’ We’re at war._

“I have no clue,” Zeb said, only half a lie.

“Zeb,” said Hera, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms. “I think it’s time we all talked.”

Beside her, Kanan looked panicked for a moment. “Hera, I told you in confidence…”

“Told her what?” asked Ezra. 

Sabine echoed Hera’s pose. “Sounds like it’s family meeting time.”

Zeb had never felt so tiny. “I don’t know what you mean.” This time, it was entirely a lie. He knew that Kanan had told at least some of his issues to Hera. _How many? How many of my problems can I keep secret from my family?_

“Zeb,” repeated Hera, staring him down. “It’s time you ‘fessed up. I know, and Kanan knows. It’s only fair to the rest of the crew that they know, too.”

After shooting Kanan a glare, Zeb looked around the room. It wasn’t just the Spectres here. Rex was here. Commander Sato was here. Wedge and Hobbie were here. There were too many people.

It was also too late, he knew. With all that had been said, there was no way to get out of it.

That didn’t stop him from trying one more time.

“I told you, I don’t know what he meant!” he protested.

After Hera elbowed him, Kanan sighed. “Zeb, buddy, she’s right. Keeping it secret isn’t going to help anyone. Would it be easier if I told them what I know and you can fill in the blanks?”

Zeb nodded. It would be mortifying either way, but if Kanan talked, Zeb didn’t have to worry about finding the right words.

“Agent Kallus is Zeb’s soulmate,” Kanan said bluntly. “He figured that out back on Lothal, when they first fought – when you manifested your Force powers, Ezra.”

“Really?” Ezra asked. “That sounds crazy. You’re not in love with him, are you?”

“No!” said Zeb quickly. “Kid, remember, soulmates don’t have to be romantic. I thought we were supposed to be enemies, that we’d kill each other.”

“But that hasn’t happened,” Hera said. “Things changed on the ice moon.”

“Bahryn, yeah.” Zeb sheepishly studied the back of his hands rather than catch anyone’s eyes.

“I know Kallus was there, but I don’t know what happened,” Kanan said. “You’ll have to tell this part, Zeb.”

Zeb shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. He followed me into the escape pod and it launched with both of us in it. He broke a leg or something in the crash on Bahryn, so I didn’t kill him right away. It would have been a cheap shot, dishonorable, and I’m not like that. I wanted a fair fight with bo-rifles. I saved his life a coupl’a times, he saved mine a coupl’a times. We had to work together if we wanted to get out alive. When you guys showed up to get me, he decided to stay and wait for the Empire to pick him up. Guess they must’ve, since we’ve seen him since then.”

“You were stuck all night with Agent Kallus?” Ezra asked. “ _That’s_ why you’ve been talking in your sleep and drawing him! What’d you guys do all night?”

Those comments earned more questioning looks from the group, making Zeb’s ears twitch in embarrassment. He chose to ignore everyone else and focused on Ezra’s question.

“We talked,” Zeb admitted. “Well, _he_ talked. I listened. He apologized for some things.”

“‘Some things’?” Hera arched an eyebrow.

Zeb turned to her. “For one, he said he hadn’t known Lasan was supposed to be as bad as it was, okay?”

“He apologized for Lasan?” Rex this time.

“Not… actually,” Zeb realized. “Came just shy of it, but he sounded earnest. I think he thought he was going to die there and had nothing to lose by confessing his ignorance. Anyhow, we both lived and both got off the moon as you know. Nothing important happened.”

“But that wasn’t the end of it,” said Kanan, picking up the story again. He wasn’t allowing Zeb to let the conversation die. “You started having dreams of him again. Then nightmares. And…”

Zeb understood exactly why Kanan trailed off. He really owed it to everyone to tell this part – the important part – himself. “Yeah. After Bahryn, I started dreaming about him again – and I still am. It’s weird but instead of dreaming about when we’ve met, I dream about things he’s been doing. And, I think, from what I’ve been able to see, that he’s been having the same dreams about me.”

Hera, Sato, Sabine, and Rex caught on right away, drawing in sharp breaths and staring at Zeb. Chopper warbled something angrily, top spinning.

“’S why I’ve been hiding out for so long. I was afraid I was gonna give him information he could use against us. But he hasn’t done anything, ever, so that’s why I’ve started to do missions again.”

“You trust him not to act on what he may see through your eyes?” asked Commander Sato.

“I–” Zeb trailed off, unsure how to answer. “I don’t know. Like I said, he _hasn’t_ done anything yet or the Imps would’ve found us already. But he’s one of them. I don’t know if he’ll do something in the future.”

Silence fell for a bit.

“You’ve been drawing _Kallus_?” Sabine asked, quietly, sounding a little surprised. “Zeb…”

He shook his head. “It’s just images I’m trying to get out of my mind. I don’t _want_ to dream about him. I don’t want to wake up remembering the dreams. But I do.”

Sabine didn’t press the issue, but she gave him a look that clearly meant they were going to talk later.

“So…” Ezra sounded unsure. “Does this mean I can’t kill him if I see him again? Since he’s Zeb’s soulmate? ‘Cause I really want to get him with my lightsaber or maybe Force shove him off a cliff.”

Zeb grinned softly. He understood that sentiment perfectly. “If he tries to kill you, Ezra, you kill him first.”

“Lieutenant Lyste!” Kallus increased his pace to catch up with the young man. “I understand you’re getting your own command ship. Congratulations.”

Lyste – so young, so innocent, and yet so fervent – colored a little. “Agent Kallus! I just heard that from Governor Pryce. How did you know already?”

“I’m being transferred to your cruiser,” Kallus explained. “I received my orders this morning.”

They were extremely inopportune orders for Fulcrum. Kallus had hoped to stay on Lothal, in the Imperial Complex, for the time being. Even being sent to the _Chimaera_ would have been acceptable, as he would be closer to Grand Admiral Thrawn and whatever information could be gleaned from him. Lyste’s cruiser, while to be stationed permanently above Lothal, was the worst possible combination of isolation from information and inconvenience. He’d have to take a shuttle planetside every time he wanted to send a Fulcrum message, which would only make detection more likely.

Kallus couldn’t refuse orders, however, not without attracting a dangerous sort of attention from the wrong people.

The transfer wasn’t _entirely_ undesirable, however. Lyste was impressionable, Kallus had noted after watching him in the Imperial Complex. Positioning himself as someone Lyste could confide in would take almost no effort at all. Lyste might not be involved in all of High Command’s plans, but he would be privy to plenty of information anyway – information Kallus could use. If he learned something from Lyste, that was one less bit of data he’d have to find on the ship computers and holonet portals where he might be tracked. One more barrier between him and execution.

“Cruiser command at your age,” Kallus continued, patting Lyste on the shoulder companionably. “Someone’s been paying attention to your career.”

Lyste looked flustered. “I never thought I’d get command,” he admitted. “Not after that fiasco with the Alderaanian princess.”

“I believe you’ve been proven wrong, Lieutenant. You’re on the fast track to success.”

“You really think so?” Lyste sounded so uncertain in that moment that Kallus felt a stab of guilt for manipulating him so easily. The boy was incredibly impressionable and Kallus knew he’d bend over backwards for the slightest hit of approval from a superior.

“I _know_ so,” he responded confidently, giving Lyste a significant look that lasted about a second longer than entirely necessary.

From the way Lyste’s eyes widened, Kallus knew the boy had picked up on the insinuation that he might have had something to do with this promotion-of-sorts.

“T– tell me, sir,” Lyste stuttered. “What does ISB want with my cruiser? Why aren’t you keeping your office here on Lothal?”

Kallus wondered the same thing. “Your cruiser is the first line of defense for the Imperial Complex, the Academy, and the TIE factory, Lieutenant,” he said, coming up with something believable on the fly. He let the edges of his mouth twitch up in a daunting smirk. “Better to be on the front line than to wait for information to catch up to me down there. I do love to be involved personally, so your ship will be most convenient for me to root out rebellion either in space or planetside.”

Lyste nodded stiffly, obviously intimidated. Kallus tried to counteract that by squeezing his shoulder again. The young man relaxed a little.

“You know, Lieutenant, I’ve assisted in commanding Star Destroyers for many years. If you ever have questions, feel free to find me. I’m on your ship to help _you_.”

“Yes, sir,” Lyste said with a nervous smile. “I will certainly come to you if I need help.”

“Good.” Kallus made a sharp turn down the nearest hallway, leaving Lyste behind suddenly. He tried not to smile.

Lyste was going to be putty in his hands.

Lyste smiled at Kallus as he entered the ship’s bridge. “Good morning, Agent Kallus. Did you sleep well?”

Kallus deliberately allowed himself a small, barely-there smile. “Certainly, Lieutenant. How do things look this morning?”

“Calm,” Lyste said, gesturing to the peaceful-looking planet floating before them. “The Governor’s office sent you a message, summoning you to the surface for a meeting this afternoon. I took the liberty of having a shuttle prepared so you can leave whenever is convenient.”

Kallus nodded. He’d seen the message about the meeting before coming to the bridge, but he wasn’t going to tell Lyste that. “Thank you, Yogar,” he said, softly enough that only the lieutenant could hear. “I appreciate being able to count on you.”

Lyste beamed at Kallus’s use of his given name. He’d proven, over the last months, that he’d do _anything_ to impress Kallus. 

Just as Kallus had planned.

Glancing at his datapad’s chrono, Kallus said, “I have some paperwork to take care of this morning, but I should be free by mealtime. Shall I see you again then, Lieutenant, or do you have too busy a schedule?” Lyste and the senior officers dined together, but Lyste seemed to take especial pride in the fact that Kallus often joined them rather than eating by himself.

_He looks up to me as I looked up to Yularen. Unfortunately for him, my mentorship is not as benevolent as Yularen’s was._

“I’ll certainly be there, sir,” said Lyste excitedly.

“Good.” Kallus left the bridge and made his way to his office in silence, thinking hard about what Pryce might have planned for him.

_I haven’t sent a Fulcrum message in a couple of weeks. Surely he hasn’t caught me as a spy. There must be some other reason he’s summoned me._

Pushing the thought from his mind, Kallus focused on his paperworks, making notes as he went, and then made it through his meal with Lyste by letting the lieutenant drive the conversation. He managed to avoid thinking about his meeting until the moment the shuttle doors closed behind him.

 _Let me learn something useful,_ he begged the galaxy at large. _Let me be able to give the Rebellion something they can use to bring down men like Thrawn and Tarkin and Palpatine._

Kallus was not disappointed.

Before he’d left behind his surface office, he’d reprogrammed a few MSE droids to stick near the Governor’s office and record his meetings. Kallus summoned one to a supply closet before his meeting and replaced its recording disk with a blank. From the information panel on the used disk, there was plenty of material for him to review.

 _After the meeting,_ he thought. _I’ll go to the tower and find out what Pryce doesn’t want me to know._

Governor Pryce met him outside her office, greeting him coolly.

Kallus nodded in return, grateful as always that Pryce wasn’t the type to engage in small talk. He respected her for that; it made her an ideal Imperial.

The meeting was blessedly short, mostly an overview of poor quality products being turned out of the factory, which had expanded production in recent months to include speeder bikes, AT-DPs, and other vehicles along with the regular TIEs. Output had increased so rapidly that Pryce had needed to press Lothalian natives into service at the plant.

“Do you want me to conduct an investigation into this?” Kallus offered.

“Soon,” Pryce said. “The Grand Admiral is coming here next week to personally inspect the plant. I have my own investigation running at the moment, in addition to some plant remodeling. If your help is necessary, I will let you know. In the meantime, I wanted you to be prepared for the Grand Admiral’s visit.”

“I appreciate the advanced notice,” Kallus said. _This really sounds like she just wanted to gloat about how she’s doing my job. That wouldn’t surprise me in the least; she’s never cared much for me._

Kallus excused himself and made a conspicuous visit to the Lothalian market outside the Imperial Complex. He took his time, wandering from shop to stand to garden to restaurant. At first, the residents and on-duty stormtroopers were on high alert around him, but eventually they stopped paying him attention once it became apparent he was there to do personal shopping, not to interrogate or arrest anyone. To further the illusion, he purchased a few satchels of fruit to take back to the cruiser. He could use the fresh food to further lure Lyste and the senior officers into trusting him.

Once he was ignored well enough by Lothalian and stormtrooper alike, Kallus slipped down a particularly dark alleyway. He doubled back a few times, following side roads and dirty lanes, until he was certain he had no tails.

On the edge of town, in a rented storage unit, he had a speeder bike stashed; a civilian model, not anything he could count on in a fight, but neither was it anything that stood out.

Taking off his helmet and setting it aside, Kallus carefully checked the bike for tracking devices.

 _Clear,_ he noted with relief. He pulled on a Lothalian poncho and mounted the speeder.

The ride to Bridger’s old tower took all of fifteen minutes. Besides checking to make sure he had no Imperial speeders following him, Kallus took no more special security precautions – the plains were too wide open for him to hide what he was doing or to lose a tail. The safest tactic was to make the journey as quickly as possible.

The climb to the top always made Kallus wish for a turbolift; it wasn’t the effort it took but rather the time. Every time, he felt far too exposed making his way up the tower’s ladder.

At the top, he took a moment to survey the plains around him. The sun was low on the horizon, the moons already high in the sky, and a gentle wind ruffled the tall golden grasses. From what Kallus could make out, he was alone. He didn’t even hear the tell-tale growls, hisses, and mews of the loth-cat colony that usually bedded down nearby.

Kallus retreated into the tower, pulling out a personal disk reader and inserting the MSE droid’s recordings. As the sun set, he scanned through one meeting and comm call after another, listening for news worthy of sharing. At the end of the tape, he found what he’d been looking for.

Finally satisfied, he sat down in front of the antique Republic comm unit and flipped the right combination of switches to access the Fulcrum frequency.

The white, angular symbol appeared in holo above the equipment, letting him know he was being recorded.

“This is Fulcrum,” he began, speaking crisply and brusquely. “Thrawn plans on building a new style of fighter in the TIE factory on Lothal. This fighter will be able to take on capital ships, so it will be a serious threat if it goes into full production. I do not have the schematics, but I suggest you find a way to acquire them – and soon. Your rebel friends on the planet may be able to help you get into the factory. Fulcrum out.”

He wished he had more information to send, but he didn’t. Besides, it was best to keep messages to less than thirty seconds – not to mention, Pryce hadn’t spoken aloud about the new fighter’s attributes.

Kallus listened to the recording once, just to make sure his voice was understandable despite being disguised, and hit the transmit button once he was satisfied. The machine beeped, signaling a successful transmission. He carefully erased the message recording, wiping the machine’s memory of everything except the frequency. Even more carefully, he wiped down the surface of everything he’d touched while in the tower, eliminating his fingerprints and as many accidental bits of forensic evidence as possible.

By the time Kallus finished, it was full dark outside, but not too late for him to take his shuttle back to Lyste’s ship without causing undue suspicion. Retracing his steps, he worked his way back to Capital City and then to the Imperial complex, helmet on once more, bags of fruit tucked under his arms.

 _Another successful day as Fulcrum,_ he thought. _May there be many more._

Zeb hated when he couldn’t participate in the Spectres’ missions.

Sure, he’d sat out a lot by choice, but that didn’t mean he _enjoyed_ not going. And missions to Imperial ships that were human-only? It was even worse because he hadn’t volunteered to be left behind. Just another reminded of what was wrong with the galaxy; another reminder that to the Empire, he was a lesser being from an Outer Rim world that had been reduced to ash.

Rex, Kanan, and Ezra were off to act on Fulcrum’s latest intel, to find the schematics for the new Imperial fighter.

And Zeb was stuck – along with Hera and the rest of the Phoenix Cell, to be fair – waiting for them to return. There wasn’t a damned thing he could do to help the mission succeed.

He paced the base, trying to think of something better to do.

All that came to mind were his dreams from the past month. Amongst the disjointed images of Kallus talking to other Imperials, of him working at a desk, and of glimpses of an extremely tired and conflicted face in the mirror, he’d seen Kallus occasionally driving a speeder across a prairie. Lothal, if Zeb had to guess. Where he was going, Zeb had no clue; he never saw the destination. He couldn’t feel Kallus’s emotions, but it sure felt like Kallus was trying to evade Imperial eyes.

Or was he? Zeb didn’t know. Didn’t have a way to know and it was frustrating. 

Now that the others knew Kallus was his soulmate, they’d been tiptoeing around Zeb, as if they were afraid to say anything. Zeb wasn’t sure if they didn’t want to hurt his feelings somehow or if they were terrified Kallus would see them in _his_ dreams. _Could go either way,_ he figured.

Just an hour before dinner, a stolen Imperial shuttle arrived, only a little worse for wear. Knowing the two Jedi were were at the helm, there was a high probability they’d had to blast themselves free of Lothal. 

The comm crackled and Ezra’s voice came over it. “Hey Phoenix Cell, this is, uh, who’d we say we are again? Team Sabotage? Anyhow, it’s us and we’re landing.”

Zeb grabbed at the comm mike. “Glad to hear from you, kid. Is ‘us’ the two of you or have you brought anyone home for dinner?”

“Nope, just us. You’re stuck with me in the bunkroom, buddy.” There’d been some talk of airlifting Ryder Azadi and his people from the planet, but no one really believed they’d leave Lothal. Apparently the group consensus had been right.

“Coming up on the landing site,” said Kanan, sounding a lot less excited than Ezra. “Zeb, meet us there.”

“Gotcha.” Zeb handed the mike back to the flight control officer he’d stolen it from and lumbered across the landing field just in time to catch the shuttle as it touched down.

Ezra bounded out of the shuttle as soon as the ramp opened, but Kanan wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Zeb had his guesses, but he wanted to be sure. “Where’s Kanan, Ez?”

“Cockpit, doing the shutdown procedures. You guys got any food cooked yet?’

Grinning, Zeb pointed toward the kitchens. “Sato’s guys hit up a market on Dornea and got some fresh stuff. Go check it out.” Ezra ran off quickly and Zeb watched him go. “Don’t you dare eat the meilooruns or Hera will kill us both!”

Ezra waved at him in response and Zeb chose to interpret that as an agreement.

Kanan was still in the cockpit like Ezra had said, flipping switches and pushing buttons as if he’d never lost his sight.

“Y’know, I have no clue how you do that sort of thing,” Zeb said, leaning against the door jamb.

Without stopping, Kanan gestured to the co-pilot’s chair. “I could tell you that it’s because I’m just that talented, but the truth is the Bendu has been teaching me a lot about seeing without sight.”

 _Ah._ The Bendu, as Kanan described him, was a huge creature out in the Atollon wilderness, who represented the balance of light and dark in the universe. Bendu, as a concept, was part of Lasan philosophy; Zeb found it was hard to think of the Bendu as a living, breathing being. _Does that mean the Ashla and the Bogan have physical bodies, too?_

Still, since he started going off into the wilderness on his own, Kanan had come back to his old self – and for that, Zeb would accept the idea of a living Bendu. “What’s up?” he asked, plopping down in the chair.

“We, uh, ended up running into Agent Kallus while we were on Lothal,” Kanan admitted. “And…”

“And?” Zeb prompted.

“He’s Fulcrum, apparently.”

Stunned, Zeb leaned back in the chair. He’d hoped. He’d prayed to the Ashla. He’d wanted more than anything for Kallus to see the error of his ways.

But to get confirmation of this…? “You’re sure?”

Kanan nodded. “He knew the code phrase and he helped Ezra and I escape.” A sheepish look crossed his face. “Ezra might have been a little rough on him trying to make it look like we attacked him and escaped on our own, but nothing bad. He’ll just be sore for a few days.”

“He knew the code phrase?” Zeb repeated, dumbfounded. “He’s really Fulcrum?”

Swiveling his chair to face Zeb, Kanan reached out and put a hand on Zeb’s knee. “He is. Looks like we can all trust him – and I think it’s all because of you.”

Zeb scoffed half-heartedly. “I just kept him alive, is all. Doesn’t make us _friends_ , does it?”

“It makes you survivors of Bahryn together,” Kanan pointed out, with a sad tone in his voice. “That means something, at least to him.”

At one point or another, everyone on the _Ghost_ crew had lost everyone and everything they held dear, Zeb reflected. Kanan was no different. He knew what it meant to be a survivor.

But he didn’t know what it meant to survive with someone else.

Zeb sighed. “So, what now? Kallus is on our side, so he and I have to be buddies?”

“No,” Kanan said. “But I do think this is why your nightmares have been getting better. On his end, at least, he’s been taking steps that bring him into alignment with yours. You’re no longer working at cross purposes.”

 _This damn soul bond._

“He’s working to heal the bond,” Kanan said gently. “I think this means you have to, as well.”

“And how do I do that?” Zeb asked. “Do we stage a rescue and get him out of there? If he’s spying for us, he’s in a really good position and we need that intel.” _And honestly, I’m not sure I want to need to figure it out right now._

“I think we wait until he asks for help or we find out he’s been compromised.”

Zeb rubbed his temples. He’d gotten so used to thinking of Kallus as morally ambiguous over the last months that learning he was a spy seemed too good to be true. Sure, Zeb had hoped, deep down, but he’d never really _believed…_

He and Kallus weren’t supposed to be enemies; they’d learned that on Bahryn. But Zeb hadn’t hoped for anymore growth from the man.

Did Zeb dare let himself think that maybe, perhaps, if the stars aligned, he and Kallus might be friends? That getting Kallus out safely when the time came – so that they could figure out what the kriff the soul bond wanted from them – was a reason to keep fighting?

“Huh,” was all Zeb could say, slumped in the co-pilots’s chair. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” agreed Kanan. “I’ve made Ezra agree to keep quiet about it for the time being, but I’ve got to tell Hera and Sato and the rest of the leadership council that Kallus is our contact. Can you live with that?”

Zeb felt very tired, all of a sudden. _More questions from more people…_ “Yeah. I think so.”

“Okay.” Kanan patted his knee one last time before standing. “I’m off to find Hera for a debrief. See you at dinner?”

“See you at dinner,” Zeb said. Part of him wanted to follow Kanan to the debriefing, so he could hear more about Kallus being a spy, but he still had to come to terms with the idea.

This was a lot to take in.

Kallus watched Pryce confront the two fake stormtroopers with something akin to horror.

Unless he did something drastic, his cover was blown and those fake stormtroopers were the only ones who could get him off the _Chimaera_.

Bridger’s droid closed the blast doors behind them, cutting off their pursuit, but also trapping them in the hangar.

“Come on!” Bridger said, motioning for Kallus to follow. “If I don’t get you back to the base, Zeb is gonna eat me.”

Bridger was moving too quickly, Kallus noted. They needed to assess the situation a little more, he thought. Rapidly looking around the hangar, he spotted Lyste, crouched behind some crates, watching Pryce fight the fake stormtroopers. Lyste, who had all the best intentions in the galaxy, shot Pryce with the stun setting on his blaster – showing he’d wholeheartedly accepted Kallus’s earlier brief insinuation that Pryce was the spy.

 _Oh. Oh, Lyste. You’re about to find out why you shouldn’t trust anyone in the Empire, ever._ Kallus felt a little sorry for what he was about to do, but while Bridger made a run for the shuttle, Kallus veered to the left and tackled Lyste at full speed, grabbing the young man around his middle and knocking him into a daze as Lyste hit the floor.

“Come on, we’ve got to go,” said one of the fake stormtroopers. It sounded like a clone’s voice, not someone Kallus recognized.

Deftly, Kallus switched his and Lyste’s code cylinders back, planting solid evidence on the misguided man.

He was committing himself entirely to his role as Fulcrum now. He wasn’t going to take that shuttle to safety, not when he could stay and continue to transmit information – Imperial monitoring or not.

Kallus knew the end of his story if he didn’t follow Bridger onto that shuttle. This was his last chance at escape; the only way out after this was death. _In the end, my life’s only worth is in putting myself at risk to help the Rebellion and the galaxy. I have to atone. I have to stay, even if Thrawn is close to finding me out._

Standing over Lyste’s unconscious form, Kallus locked eyes with Bridger, who stood by the shuttle’s control panels.

“Kallus, come on,” Bridger said. “Zeb’s waiting on you. We all are.”

Kallus highly doubted any of that was true. “There’s been a change of plans now that _I’ve_ captured Fulcrum,” he said.

Bridger nodded at him as if he understood what Kallus meant. He raised the ramp.

Just before the ramp sealed the shuttle closed, Kallus said, “I can do more good here. Tell Zeb that.”

 _Why do I need Zeb to know my reasoning? I don’t owe him anything anymore, do I?_ Briefly, he indulged himself in the thought of fighting _alongside_ Garazeb Orrelios instead of _against_ him. In the thought of being accepted by Zeb’s friends. In the thought of belonging to the cause instead of simply contributing.

The daydreams made Kallus want to stop the shuttle from leaving until he could board.

He’d made his choice, however, and he was going to see it through.

The shuttle – and Kallus’s last hope of escape – took off. Colonel Yularen and some stormtroopers broke through the sealed blast doors and ran over to Kallus.

Kallus put on a show. He picked Lyste up, yelled at him, shook him, accused him loudly and blatantly of being the traitor.

Poor Lyste had no clue what was happening to him as the troopers dragged him off to the detention cells. Kallus felt a stab of guilt, but repressed it. He’d only done what he needed to do to help the Rebellion. If Lyste was a casualty, then so be it. Kallus knew what side he needed to be on, and it wasn’t Lyste’s.

Perhaps, in all his discussions advising Lyste, he should have mentioned that the young man should expect _everyone_ in the Empire to stab him in the back if they felt it would benefit them.

As he was being dragged off by troopers, Lyste called Kallus’s name, begging him to tell Yularen and Pryce that he wasn’t the spy, that he was only acting on Kallus’s information.

Kallus watched him go for a few moments, then turned his back.

He had to; he couldn’t let himself show remorse for what was happening to Lyste.

Lyste was a casualty of war, nothing more.

Yularen walked up to Kallus and shook his hand. “Good job, young Agent Kallus. It’s nice to see that you’ve remembered your training well. Well done setting the lieutenant up to expose himself.”

Kallus nodded, focusing on his former mentor. “I learned from the best, sir. I’m just doing the best I can for the cause.” _The Rebellion’s cause, that is._

“Let’s go see Grand Admiral Thrawn,” Yularen suggested. “See what we can sort out together.”

Kallus motioned with his right hand. “I’ll be happy to do that. Lead the way, sir.”

Yularen gave him an approving nod.

Butterflies in his stomach at the implied praise, Kallus cursed himself. He was how many years out of the Academy and he _still_ wanted nothing more than the approval of those more powerful than he was?

 _Hopeless,_ Kallus thought. _You’re hopeless. Buck up and play your part so that the Rebellion – including Zeb – lives through this. They’re counting on you._

_Follow that line to the end, Alexsandr. You can’t be forgiven for what you’ve done, but you can start making amends right here and now._

If Zeb had been impatient waiting to hear from Ezra’s last mission to Lothal, he was irritated waiting to hear from this one. He haunted the comm center the whole day, even though he knew the earliest Kanan, Ezra, and Rex would check in was in the late afternoon. Any time a comm tech tried to talk to him, he growled low, terrifying most of them.

Late afternoon came and went. Zeb’s fur bristled all over and he clenched his fists, trying to wait for that call.

The comm call that would probably change his life.

“ _We’ve got Kallus,”_ Kanan would radio in, in Zeb’s imagination. And then Zeb would meet them out at the shuttle’s landing pad and–

_And what, Orrelios? What are you going to do? Sweep the man into a hug? You don’t know him well enough for that._

Sometime after the overnight shift took over from the daytime comm operators, the call came.

“ _Phoenix base, this is_ Rescue _requesting permission to land. Transmitting codes now.”_

Zeb listened tensely as Rex’s request was run through the code-checker and then passed on to the on-duty flight support crew. Once the shuttle was given a landing assignment, Zeb ran off to greet the ship.

He stood, anxiously awaiting the lowering of the ramp. He didn’t have to wait too long; in just a few moments, it opened.

Rex and Ezra were the only ones there.

“Where’s–?” Zeb asked before he could stop himself.

“Kanan’s doing shutdown,” Rex explained.

Ezra stopped, a look of concern on his face. “Kallus said to tell you that he can do more good by staying, even if he gets caught.”

Zeb frowned. _No_. They knew Thrawn was on Kallus’s trail. They’d risked a shuttle and three of their most important commandos to bring him back.

Kallus couldn’t just turn away that sort of assistance. He _couldn’t_.

But he had. ”Tell me everything that happened,” Zeb instructed.

Ezra nodded agreeably. “Just as long as you let me do it over dinner.”

“Fine. Let’s get you all some food.”

“Zeb, I think…” Ezra started as they walked to the commissary. “I think Kallus has been changed by all this as much as you have. He didn’t _feel_ like the same person. His Force presence was different.”

“What does that mean?” Zeb asked.

“I don’t know.” Ezra looked up at him. “But maybe, if he survives this, you guys can figure it out.”

“That’s a big ‘if’, buddy. Let’s try to keep things reasonable for the time being. So tell me everything and let me be the judge.”

“Fine.” Ezra opened the refrigeration unit and started scrounging inside for leftovers. “So we followed the plan. I stole a shuttle from Lothal and…”

Zeb followed Ezra around, listening quietly as the boy told how Kallus helped him, how they broke into Thrawn’s office and erased Atollon from his map, how Kallus made his decision to stay behind.

To be honest, Zeb would have respected Kallus’s decision more if he wasn’t the man’s kriffing soulmate. It was stupid and self-sacrificing, but it was well-intentioned and honorable. A pretty good summary of Kallus himself, from what Zeb knew of him.

Respecting his decision didn’t mean liking it, of course. Zeb fumed on the inside the whole evening, barely able to let go enough to fall asleep.

That night, he had regular dreams, not soulmate dreams, but they were still filled with Kallus: Kallus being caught, being tortured, dying. All because he’d stayed behind like a fool.

Zeb woke ready to strangle his soulmate for his idiocy. Next time he saw Kallus, he was giving that man a stern talking-to. Maybe he’d even get Hera to back him up for extra intimidation.

Of course, that meant they had to try again sometime to get Kallus out safely, and Kallus would have to actually _follow the plan this time._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the reason for the "Graphic Depictions of Violence" tag.

The reprogrammed MSE droids Kallus had carefully introduced on the _Chimaera_ went offline. All of them, on the same day.

That was Kallus’s first and only clue.

Thankfully, Kallus was good at reading clues.

Thrawn knew. Somehow, Thrawn had figured out how Fulcrum worked and that Lyste wasn’t the spy. The fact that his room wasn’t already flooded with troopers suggested that Thrawn wasn’t sure _who_ the spy was, not just yet. Kallus still had time.

Tossing and turning that night, unable to find sleep, Kallus thought – and his thoughts led him somewhere terribly ill-advised.

He realized he didn’t _want_ to die.

He’d accepted that he probably _would_ die. But acceptance didn’t mean desire.

If Thrawn knew there was still a spy, any information Kallus came across would be suspect. There really wasn’t much more good he could do there, unless he found a way to assassinate Thrawn and Pryce and the rest of the senior officers. But, like deeply rooted weeds, new evil was always ready to grow in the vacancies left by the Empire.

It would be better, then, to strike out and save himself rather than stay in the vain hope he could still make a difference with his knowledge of the Imperial inner workings. He owed it to Zeb to get himself to safety so they could figure things out – assuming the lasat had the same dreams as Kallus.

His mind made up, Kallus snuck out in the early morning hours and took a TIE fighter to Lothal’s surface so he didn’t need to wake a pilot. Kallus flew _very_ poorly and probably wouldn’t be able to dock the TIE without help upon his return, but that’s what autopilot was for. He simply punched in the coordinates of Bridger’s tower and let the TIE lead the way.

Lothal was dark and still; neither moon was up and no wind stirred the grasses. It felt ominous.

Kallus continued on anyway, climbing the ladder and turning on the comm equipment.

“This is Fulcrum,” he said in a hurry, so unlike his usual deliberate and controlled tone of voice. “I am close to being discovered and can no longer access new information. If at all possible, an extraction would be helpful. If not… I understand. You will be able to find me on the central command cruiser over Lothal until further notice.

“For the final time, Fulcrum out.”

Everyone had been quiet listening to the latest Fulcrum message, but no one started talking when it was through, either. There was something about Kallus’s last sentence that hung heavy on the heart, as if he’d already given up, and it was hard to think of anything to follow that up.

Zeb silently raged at his soulmate. They’d already sent one extraction team and Kallus had refused to go. Granted, he had passed on some good information since then, _but_ … 

Would Phoenix Cell be able to spare people to get Kallus out? How would they do it? Would Thrawn discover Kallus before they got there?

Had this thing between them been pointless, after all?

“The easiest thing will be to send in a pilot undercover,” said Hera. “We can drop them off in one of our stolen TIEs, and then they can steal a shuttle and bring Kallus back with them. The smaller the team for this, the better.”

Across from Zeb, Hobbie looked up. “I’ll do it.” 

“Are you sure?” Commander Sato asked.

Hobbie shrugged. “He helped get me out of Skystrike. It’s only fair and I _do_ know how to act like an Imperial pilot.” The boy glanced at Zeb, but quickly averted his eyes. “We need to get Agent Kallus out of there. People here are counting on him.”

“Sounds like he’s not going to be an agent much longer,” Zeb grumbled. He wasn’t going to comment on the ‘people counting on him’ remark; it hit too close to home. “Either he’ll be here or he’ll be dead.”

The others nodded, agreeing with Zeb, and began wandering off. Hera pulled Hobbie aside, presumably giving the young pilot instructions on how best to stay alive on a mission like Kallus’s rescue.

Before Zeb could turn to leave as well, Sato said his name.

“Are you okay with this?” Sato asked mildly. “If you need to go on the mission, I can send an escort ship. You can hide on the dark side of one of the moons until Lieutenant Klivian and Agent Kallus make their escape.”

Zeb shook his head instinctively but reconsidered. “…you really would send an escort ship? Like the _Ghost_?”

Sato chuckled. “I was thinking something smaller, but yes. I believe we can spare the _Ghost_ for the time being.”

Gripping the side of the table in anticipation, anger, and a tiny bit of hope rising within him, Zeb nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you, Commander.”

“Orrelios,” Sato said before leaving the room. “Fulcrum is one of us. We don’t leave our own behind if we can help it. That’s not our way.”

Zeb nodded, unable to come up with the right words. He _hated_ that he was getting so emotional about Kallus. He _hated_ that it wasn’t easy to fall back into bantering with his friends.

He _hated_ all the ways Kallus had changed his life.

_But you don’t really hate him, do you? You’re just upset with him for staying behind last time and worried that Hobbie won’t be able to save him this time, aren’t you?_

Zeb gulped, earning a concerned glance from Hera. Before she could come talk to him, he made his way back to his bunk as inconspicuously as possible. Once there, he leaned against the bunks, one leg shaking anxiously.

_If Thrawn is really on to him… If Thrawn finds that comm equipment… The Fulcrum voice modulation isn’t that difficult. It would be easy to uncover Kallus’s real voice and then Thrawn would know that Kallus framed that other guy. What will Thrawn do to Kallus when he discovers the truth?_

His mind knew the answer – torture, execution – but Zeb resolutely refused to go there.

They were going to get Kallus out. Safely. And that was that.

When Kallus asked for permission to debrief every arriving pilot and shuttle crew, the new first lieutenant was more than happy to grant it. After all, everything Kallus did was in service of the Empire.

Each day, each ship that came in, Kallus became more and more convinced that the Rebellion had ignored his plea for help.

 _That’s all right,_ he thought as his heart sank. _I knew they wouldn’t come. That’s the way of things; people use others then discard them. I’m no longer useful, so they don’t need me anymore. The weak and useless perish._ He’d let the fact that Zeb had been so intent on saving him on Bahryn make him believe the Rebels would come for him now. Kallus quashed that hope solidly, ready to accept his fate.

Then a lone, hyperdrive equipped TIE made its way into the cruiser’s hangar.

Kallus waited for the pilot to take off his helmet so he could watch his face as he talked. Ostensibly, he was discussing any Rebel activity pilots witnessed on their travels so he could mark it on a map and pinpoint their bases, but in actuality, he was waiting to hear the Fulcrum code phrase.

This pilot didn’t tell him the code phrase, but Kallus recognized him right off: Derek “Hobbie” Klivian, one of the Skystrike defectors that Kallus had helped escape. He’d had to fill out reports after that incident, so he was quite familiar with the escapees’ faces and histories.

“Heya,” Klivian said. “Sato sent me.”

“Shhh,” hissed Kallus. “Ears everywhere.”

Klivian shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Wanna get your stuff and then we can leave? There’s a crew waiting for us.”

“I can’t just up and leave,” Kallus said quietly. “Not if I want to cover Fulcrum’s tracks. Do you know how much information they could get if they went looking for my comm equipment?”

Klivian’s eyes widened. “No,” he admitted.

“They could find Atollon!” Kallus never let his voice get above a whisper, but he still tried to drive home to the boy that they needed a better plan than cutting and running. “If we can leave while Thrawn thinks I’m loyal, it’ll be best. We have to be clever about this.”

“Right. So what do we do?”

“First, you come to my office.” Quickly, Kallus grabbed Klivian’s arm and started dragging him across the hangar. A TIE officer started to protest, but Kallus stopped him with a gesture. “This pilot ran into Rebels. I’m taking him for questioning.”

The officer looked like he wanted to argue, but kept his mouth shut. _Good. The ISB uniform is handy for covering a number of sins._

In his office, Kallus used his code cylinder to turn off surveillance audio. Anyone watching would see him talking to Klivian, but not hear what they talked about; an ideal set-up.

Klivian sat in the chair across from Kallus. “So what do we do?” the young man asked.

Kallus thought for a moment. “If I leave voluntarily, Thrawn and the Empire won’t stop hunting me down. I know too much – more than they think I know.” He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “I think I have to be dead.”

“Dead?” asked Klivian, voice breaking. “I’m supposed to bring you back alive.”

“I know.” Kallus stared at the boy. “But we can fake my death. If Rebels infiltrate the ship and take me hostage, they can ‘kill’ me and we all escape. You said there’s another ship waiting nearby.”

“Yes, sir. Behind one of Lothal’s moons. The _Ghost_.”

In his chest, Kallus’s heart pounded. _The_ Ghost _is here. That means_ Zeb _is here._

“That makes it trickier,” he said, hoping his thoughts weren’t obvious. “The _Ghost_ is well-known. There’s a distinct possibility she’ll be fired on before getting the chance to land in our hangar.”

“She’s got cloaking devices and–”

“She’s visually recognizable,” Kallus said, cutting Klivian off. “She gets in range for docking and she’ll be seen.”

“So then we stick with the plan of you flying out with me on a TIE and meeting up with the _Ghost_ after a hyperspace jump.”

Kallus nodded. That sounded much safer than asking the _Ghost_ to fly into the Imperial blockade of Lothal. He thought for a second, a morbid plan coming to him – morbid, yet the most reasonable plan he could think of on the fly, if he wanted to cover his tracks. “Do you have explosives? It ought to be simple enough to distract the hangar crew long enough for us to escape.”

Hobbie nodded and patted the black satchel at his waist. “Sabine made sure I had some just in case.”

“Good.” Kallus leaned forward. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Klivian…”

“Grand Admiral,” said Kallus stiffly, in the hangar a bit later. “I didn’t expect you here on our little cruiser.”

Thrawn gave Kallus a cool look and stepped past him into the hangar proper. “I understand you’ve been quite diligent in hunting Rebels, Agent Kallus. I merely came for an update on your efforts and to share my appreciation for your work.”

Kallus fought not to gulp nervously. He had to play the dedicated Imperial around Thrawn; the chiss was more astute than anyone else Kallus had ever met – and that included Sith Lords. “Thank you for your attention, sir. I didn’t know my efforts were noticed beyond this ship.”

“Of course they are, Agent. I keep tabs on all my subordinates. Good work should be rewarded.”

 _And disloyalty should be snuffed out,_ filled in Kallus. _Disloyalty like mine._

“…if it weren’t for you, Agent, Lyste might still be sending messages to the Rebellion,” Thrawn was saying.

Kallus nodded sharply. “Yes, sir. I’m just trying to do my duty: root out Rebellion wherever it might crop up.”

Thrawn stopped in front of Kallus’s office and the two men entered in silence. Thrawn surveyed the expressionless room with a modicum of disgust evident on his face. “No art, Agent?”

Kallus stood by the door, arms crossed behind his back in his usual ‘I’m-an-ISB-agent’ stance. “No, sir. I find that I am relocated often enough that it’s better to not have personal attachments.”

“No personal attachments,” the grand admiral hummed. “Sounds rather like the Jedi code, Agent. You are not hiding Force abilities of your own from me, are you?”

Kallus shook his head. “Of course not, sir. I was a child when the Jedi betrayed the Republic; I have no fond memories of Force wielders of any sort, much less their philosophies.”

“Ah, but you can learn so much from them.” Thrawn trailed a finger along his desk as if checking for dust. “Someday, Agent, I suggest you study the Republic Jedi and their mistakes. They’re mistakes the Empire must avoid.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thrawn motioned toward Kallus. “One of those mistakes was forgiving disloyalty. I will _not_ make that mistake, Fulcrum.”

Kallus’s eyes widened. _Thrawn knew. Thrawn knew all along,_ he realized. _I hope he doesn’t know about Klivian. I can’t let Thrawn leave here if I_ _want to live._

Kallus attempted a kick into Thrawn’s chest, over the desk, but Thrawn caught his foot and twisted it. In order to avoid an ankle injury, Kallus pushed off the ground with his other foot and let himself spin with Thrawn’s movements.

Unfortunately, he didn’t regain his footing after, falling to the ground hard, half on and half off his desk, knocking the air from his lungs. He hurried to get back to his feet.

By the time Kallus stood again, Thrawn was in front of him. “There are stormtroopers outside this door,” Thrawn said casually as he high-kicked Kallus in the side. “Running would be most unwise.”

Kallus tried to block the blows, but for all of Kallus’s hand-to-hand skills, Thrawn managed to keep the upper hand by the slightest bit. It might have been pure skill or it might have been that Kallus was caught off-guard, he wasn’t sure, but either way he was losing this battle. _Maybe I can still win this…_

Kallus dove for the floor to avoid Thrawn’s next blow and used the desk legs to pull himself around. There, on the wall, was his bo-rifle.

He grabbed for it, but Thrawn pinned his wrists to the wall and kneed him in the gut. Kallus had enough training to withstand most pain, so he only flinched a little – one saving grace in the farce that was this fight.

“No, Agent, I think not. No weapons for you, unless you want me to simply call in the stormtroopers and have them shoot you.”

“I can take them,” Kallus hissed, breaking out of Thrawn’s grip. He had just one hand free, but that was all he needed.

He hit the release for the bo-rifle’s extensions and yellow light crackled loudly in the small office. There wasn’t much room to move the full-length bo-rifle, but there was enough. He slammed one end into Thrawn’s neck.

Kallus wasn’t familiar with chiss biology, but it seemed that move was just as incapacitating for them as it was for humans.

The door opened and four stormtroopers entered.

Before they could fire, Kallus leapt over the desk and bowled into them, bo-rifle out to take the brunt of the attack. Two stormtroopers fell. Kallus knocked over the other two and ran, full-speed, into the hallway.

 _No time to get anything else. They’ll find my datapad and eventually crack it. The Rebels will have to move, but they’ll have to whether I leave this ship dead or alive._ His fingers tightened around the bo-rifle, and he folded it back up as he ran, turning it into a deadly effective blaster. _At least I still have this._

Thank the Force – or whatever it was Rebels said – Klivian was in the hangar.

Kallus called his name and the pilot jumped into gear. He motioned Kallus to a TIE that wasn’t clamped down and dashed up the ladder and into the ship.

Just as Kallus’s feet touched the ladder, a blaster shot nearly hit his face. He looked and a squad of stormtroopers were arranging themselves in lines, a tripod-mounted ship’s laser in the middle.

If they fired that thing before Klivian had the shields up, they were both dead. Kallus had to stop it.

“Klivian!” he shouted, knocking on the transparisteel viewport. “Explosives!” Staging his death was no longer an option, but the explosives just might allow them both to get out alive.

A small black bag flew out the top of the TIE and Kallus grabbed it, nearly losing his balance on the ladder. Quickly, he reached inside, arming a detonator by feel, and threw it into the stormtrooper block. It was a successful throw; it took out the large gun.

Hoping for a second win, Kallus armed the next detonator and pulled it out of the bag. More stormtroopers – but not all – died. Kallus reached for the third and last detonator.

It was armed and he was primed to throw it when a blaster bolt caught him in the wrist. Involuntarily, he dropped the detonator.

It landed three ladder rungs under his feet.

Kallus scrambled to get out of the way before it could go off, but these detonators had short timers. He had one leg inside the TIE, the other on the ladder, when the detonator exploded.

Kallus screamed; his leg – his right one, the one that had always bothered him since Bahryn – felt like it was on fire. His entire right side also told him something had gone very wrong.

Falling the rest of the way into the TIE, Kallus hit the floor behind the pilot’s seat. His head bounced on the metal grating and _Kriffing hells, what will Zeb say?_ was the only thing in his mind before he blacked out.

_“TIE Second Date to_ Ghost _, you there_ Ghost _?”_

Zeb stood up immediately when he heard Hobbie’s voice, accidentally bumping into the dejarik table and messing up Sabine’s latest portrait.

“Kriff, Zeb!” she said, half-yelling.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, making his way into the cockpit.

“Understood, Hobbie,” said Hera into the comm. “We’ll rendezvous at location three and then figure out what sort of medical care we need.”

“Medical care?” Zeb tried not to let worry overtake him. He gripped the back of the co-pilot’s chair, neither aware nor caring that his claws were piercing the leather.

“I didn’t get all the details – Hobbie’s flying, not checking on Kallus – but he got hurt trying to get into the TIE. No idea yet how bad it is except that he’s unresponsive.”

Zeb blinked. “Kallus? Kallus is unresponsive?” He couldn’t help the way his voice broke on the last word.

“Apparently.” Hera stood and placed a small hand atop Zeb’s. “Look, if we need to go to Hutt Space or somewhere to get him the right treatment, we will. Whatever he’s done to us in the past, he’s your soulmate and we owe _you_ at least that much.”

Zeb nodded, trying not to let emotions get the better of him. Getting upset helped no one, least of all Kallus.

He’d been fidgety ever since Sato approved the mission. They were getting Kallus out. He wanted to leave. That had been great news, but… what did it mean, exactly? What did the soul bond want from them? Would they stay cordial or could they be friends?

Zeb didn’t know if they’d ever get the chance to find answers to those questions.

With Chopper’s help, Hera made the short jump to their third alternate rendezvous point. A TIE hung in space already, waiting for them. Even before Hobbie could dock, Zeb was at the hatch opening, fingers itching impatiently to open it already.

The tell-tale _clang_ of a successful dock rang through the hold. Zeb immediately started spinning the hatch wheel, yanking it open as soon as he could.

He looked down into the TIE. Hobbie was out of the pilot’s seat, crouching by Kallus’s head.

There was just _so much blood_.

“He’s alive,” Hobbie said quickly. “But he’s too heavy for me to move without dropping him. You’re gonna have to get him, Zeb.”

Zeb helped Hobbie climb out of the fighter. He heard Hera and Sabine and Chopper behind him, but he only had eyes for Kallus.

Kriff, he looked bad. Kallus’s right leg looked like it’d been through a meat grinder and the rest of his right side wasn’t too much better.

With a nervous gulp, Zeb jumped down into the TIE, careful not to land on Kallus. Unsure how else to carry him, he attached the black bo-rifle to his back, slung Kallus over his shoulder, and climbed back out.

There were audible gasps and hisses from Hera and Sabine. Carefully, Zeb moved Kallus so that he was – hopefully – carrying him more comfortably.

“What happened, Hobbie?” Hera asked.

“One of your detonators,” he said, looking at Sabine. He used two on stormtroopers, but the third one went off too close. Then he fell into the TIE and I took off before checking on him.”

Sabine frowned with concern. “He’s lucky, then. Those are meant to go through armor.”

Hera stepped forward and checked Kallus’s leg, hands bloody when she pulled them back. “He needs more than we can do at Atollon. Hobbie, lose the TIE; it’s too recognizable. Chopper, go plot us a jump to Nar Shaddaa. Hutt Space should keep us from Imperial hands for a bit. Enough time to get him stabilized, at least.”

“I’m stayin’ with him,” Zeb said.

Hera nodded. “Of course you are. Hobbie, you’re my copilot. Come on.”

Zeb stood there, holding Kallus, feeling blood soak into his fur and his clothing, trying to figure out what to do with him. The obvious thing was to take him to a bunk.

He used his foot to trigger the door to slide open and resituated Kallus so he could hold the man with one hand. Zeb carefully pulled all the blankets off his bed, including the pillow. It would be easier to clean the bed itself than it would be to clean sheets.

Zeb laid Kallus down on the bed, feeling oafish, like every move he made would hurt the man.

Kallus groaned when Zeb pulled his arms back, the first noise he’d made. His eyes opened the slightest amount.

He was clearly not focusing on anything. “Zeb,” he mumbled, obviously struggling to be loud enough that Zeb could hear him. “Garazeb.”

Zeb quickly grabbed Kallus’s good hand with one of his own and set the man’s bo-rifle on the top bunk with the other. “It’s me,” he said. “Alexsandr Kallus, ya gotta hang on. We’re gettin’ help.”

A tragic smile appeared on Kallus’s face. “Dun’ matter. Gotta go to base. Thrawn will know soon. I didn’t have time…”

“Karabast, Kallus,” fumed Zeb. “We’re getting you help, _now_ , and you’re not going to complain about it.”

Kallus reached up and Zeb sat next to him on the bed, leaning down to listen to his hissed whispers. “My datapad. Had Sato’s frequencies on it. Had Rebel information. Had to leave it. Thrawn’s people will break its encryption. You need to evacuate _now_.”

“We can tell ‘em that,” Zeb said. “But we’re still takin’ you to a med center.”

Kallus struggled like he wanted to sit up, but Zeb placed a hand on his chest, holding him down.

“Zeb, people – your people – are in danger,” Kallus protested.

“I don’t think you can even walk,” Zeb pointed out, gesturing to Kallus’s leg. “Much less go through an evacuation. You’ll be more help to the Rebellion if you let us get you medical help.”

Looking down at his leg, Kallus’s eyes widened. “I– I can’t feel it,” he stuttered. “I can’t feel my leg anymore. Oh stars, I’m going to throw up.”

Zeb grabbed the trash bin with a foot and got it alongside the bed just in time for Kallus to use it. When it seemed like Kallus must have emptied his entire stomach, Zeb cautiously reached out and brushed loose hair back from the man’s forehead. “Lie down,” he instructed. “I’m gonna bandage what I can so you’ll stop losing blood.”

Kallus nodded.

“That means I’m gonna cut some of your clothes off,” Zeb warned. “I’ll try to preserve yer modesty but I’m doing what I gotta to take care of you.”

Blinking, Kallus turned to face the bunk above them. “Zeb, I spent much of my youth in boarding academies with communal living and even more communal showers. Life in the ISB wasn’t much different. _Modesty_ is not something I’ve had the privilege of caring about for a very long time.”

 _Huh. Sounds like we have more privacy on the_ Ghost _than he’s used to._ Zeb didn’t argue with Kallus, just began using sharp claws to tear away shredded clothing. As he went, Zeb kept finding new wounds, and soon Kallus was down to nothing but a set of black human-style underwear.

Almost completely undressed like that, Kallus looked even worse than he had before. Most of his torso was red from burns, excluding the parts that looked like he’d been hit with a pellet slugthrower. Even the area under his cuirass, though safe from the detonator’s physical blast, was burned from the heat of the explosion. About the only thing that had been spared either burns or flesh wounds was his left leg; Zeb figured it must have been protected somehow.

“Idiot,” he muttered. “What’d you do? Jump on a thermal detonator and hope for the best?”

Kallus laughed once, shortly, a wheezing cough accompanying the sound. “Dropped it. Didn’t get into the TIE in time.”

“Clumsy oaf,” Zeb said. “Think you’ve lost your explosives privileges for now.”

“Fair enough.” Kallus coughed again. “Zeb… We need to talk.”

“We’ll talk when you’re better,” Zeb said.

“No,” Kallus insisted. “We might not get another chance.”

Zeb shook his head. “Don’t be morbid. You’ll be fine.”

“The dreams,” Kallus said, ignoring Zeb. “Did you have them too? Did you see me?”

“I did,” Zeb confirmed. “I was terrified you’d find out where the base was and tell Thrawn.”

A slight smile quirked the edges of Kallus’s mouth. “I knew. I figured it out from the dreams. Told nobody.”

“I kinda figured you had. Yer not stupid.” Zeb smiled. “You need to rest, Kal,” he said, shortening Kallus’s name for the first time.

“‘Kal’? I… I like that. From you,” Kallus confessed, eyelids drooping. “Zeb…”

“We’ll figure it out, okay, Kal? But I need to bandage you so you stay alive until we reach a med center. Don’t fight me on this.”

Kallus looked like he wanted to argue, but he closed his mouth again and nodded. “Thank you, Zeb. For coming to get me.”

“Eh,” Zeb said. “Yer one of us now. Crazy missions to save our own are kinda our specialty.”

“Don’t I know it?” Kallus muttered.

“Okay.” Zeb stood. “I’m getting those bandages. Don’t you dare move.”

Kallus nodded.

When Zeb got back with a few medpacks, Kallus was asleep, breathing shallowly. He slept the entire time Zeb spent applying bacta spray and bandages, but soon Zeb suspected Kallus quit sleeping and full-on passed out from pain and exhaustion.

Zeb quietly turned off the light and climbed into the top bunk, staying alert. _Let him sleep. Maybe I didn’t exacerbate any of his injuries. I’ll be here in case anything else goes wrong._

An urgent need to open his eyes. A struggle to do the same. Light, but only briefly. Eyes shut again, heavily, eagerly. Awareness of breathing, the work it took to do so, the burn it caused in his lungs and throat.

The process repeated until finally, without realizing he’d managed it, Kallus woke up fully and kept his eyes open.

The first thing he really registered was a blur of purple off to his left. He focused in that direction and yes, there was Zeb. He appeared to be asleep, so Kallus said nothing, trying to mentally account for everything that had happened.

He remembered the explosion. He remembered hitting the TIE floor. He remembered Zeb picking him up.

That was about it. Everything else was a blur.

Hells, right now the entire galaxy was a blur. If he moved his gaze too quickly, everything went fuzzy for a moment.

“Good morning!” said a cheerful voice.

Kallus glanced to his right and saw a bothan in a nurse’s uniform. He didn’t say anything; his mouth felt too dry to open at the moment.

“I’m Rache,” she continued, as if Kallus had answered her greeting. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Water, please,” Kallus croaked out. He tried to raise his head so he could see better, but found he couldn’t. He got the same result when he tried to pick up his arms.

“Careful,” Rache said, stepping around the sleeping Zeb. “You’re strapped down, but it’s just to hold you still while you finish healing. Another day or so and you should be ready to move out of here.”

Something sounded off. “What’s healing? What’s happened to me?” He attempted to force his head to clear so he could do a full mental assessment of what body parts he could still feel.

“In a moment.” Rache left without answering the question.

She pulled the curtain closed around Kallus’s bed as she went, the squeak of the curtain rod waking Zeb. The lasat looked at Kallus straightaway, appearing shocked to find him awake. “Kal…”

“Tell me what I’m doing here, Orrelios,” Kallus said, inserting some ice into his voice.

Zeb flinched at the use of his last name. “How much do you remember, Kallus?”

Thinking again – his short term memory was having some difficulty at the moment – he told about the explosion and falling in the TIE fighter.

“Right.” Zeb moved over to sit on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Kallus’s thigh.

Or at least… that’s what it looked like to Kallus. He couldn’t feel the touch.

“Kal,” Zeb said, gentle again. “The explosion… your leg… you’ve been in a bacta tank but it wasn’t enough. Guess the bacta here on the Rim isn’t as potent as it is on Thyferra.”

“Wasn’t enough for what?” Kallus asked cautiously.

“They couldn’t save your leg,” Zeb said quickly, as if he had to force the words out. “They amputated above the knee. Right leg, the one ya hurt on Bahryn. Saved yer arms and your squishy bits, though.”

Kallus heard what Zeb said, but a door slammed in his brain, keeping it from sinking in. “Squishy bits?”

Zeb gestured at his torso. “Organs and stuff.”

Kallus looked at the ceiling again, taking stock one more time. He felt aches along his side – probably surgical wounds – and a little lingering soreness from burned skin mostly healed by bacta, and it became evident that the emptiness he felt where his right leg was, no, _should be_ , was because it was missing and not simply numb.

“Zeb…” he said carefully. “Who let them take my leg?”

Sheepish, Zeb looked away. “I, uh. Oh, Kal, the doctors said it would most likely develop gangrene and the best case scenario was you in a chair the rest of your life. They said this way you’d get a cybernetic and walk again in a coupla weeks. I didn’t _want_ to make–”

“You didn’t want to make the decision?” Kallus finished for him. “Sounds like you did, Garazeb. Sounds like you chose my future for me. Why the hells did they let you do that, anyway?”

Zeb stared off in the distance. “Hera told ‘em we were soulmates, so they asked me for instructions.” He gulped. “I tried to think what you’d want, Kal. I’m sorry.”

“You ought to be,” Kallus said, voice breaking as he failed to rein in the sorrow he felt.

“It was this or probably watch you die!” Zeb protested.

“What if that’s what I wanted?” Kallus argued. “I’m no good to anyone like this. I’m no good to you, to the Rebellion, to _anyone_. I might as well go back to the Empire and turn myself in as a traitor. At least then it’s a quick death and not a future where all I can do is waste away because of my own uselessness!”

Zeb recoiled as if he’d been slapped. His face darkened. “I said I’m sorry. I did what I thought best. And it sounds like you needed someone to make that decision, because everything you just said is _stupid_.”

“I’m sorry?” Kallus laughed. “‘Stupid’?”

“Yeah, _stupid_ ,” Zeb said, riled up now. “Stupid not to take our first attempt to save you. Stupid not to jump in the TIE with Hobbie right away. But no, you had to be _clever_ , didn’t you? Make up a plan. See how that worked out!”

The lasat stood and stormed out of the medical bay holding Kallus. Because his forehead was strapped down, he couldn’t see which way Zeb went.

Rache returned, as if she’d been waiting for the conversation to end, and sat on the bed so she could hold the water cup and straw for Kallus’s use.

“He’ll be back,” she assured Kallus. “It’s hard on everyone when something like this happens. He has to deal with it himself, just like you do. But you’re soulmates. You’ll get through this.”

Kallus didn’t have the heart to tell her that ‘soulmates’ didn’t seem to mean much when it came to the two of them. That he and Zeb started out trying to kill each other and a truce was probably the best they could ask for.

To tell the truth, Kallus didn’t have the heart to think about that, either.


	6. Chapter 6

“You’re on Nar Shaddaa, dear,” the nurse had said, speaking as if the moon wasn’t one of the most dangerous places in the galaxy. “Corellian Sector Medical Center. You’ve been here three days, in and out of bacta.”

Three days. Three days of Kallus’s life, gone. Three days that Thrawn had to work unimpeded on slicing into the datapad Kallus left behind.

Thrawn could be attacking Phoenix Cell _right now._

Kallus needed to get out of there. He had a job to do; he was still Fulcrum, after all, and a Fulcrum agent lived only to serve the Rebellion.

To do that, he had to get out of the bed, somehow, and that started with being unstrapped. Kallus wasn’t quite sure how to accomplish that other than to attempt to break the straps with brute strength. Brute strength he didn’t have at the moment, sadly.

Hells, he didn’t have _any_ strength at the moment.

 _I slept for three days. By all rights, I should be wide awake,_ he mused. Medicated or not, he should have gotten rest. At the present, however, he was losing his coherence to sleep once more, hopefully for significantly less time than another three days.

> _Kallus ran. He was running down the hallway of some Imperial ship; it was impossible to tell which one when everything was made to be uniform._
> 
> _Behind him, Thrawn ran, too. He was still a ways back, but he was gaining. He would inevitably catch Kallus and extract every snippet of Rebel information that had ever crossed Kallus’s mind. He wouldn’t be able to keep it secret, to keep the Rebels safe. He’d betray a cause he swore his utmost, internal allegiance to once again._
> 
> _Alexsandr Kallus would have no honor anymore._
> 
> _He skidded around a corner, almost losing his balance, and recovered only to run into a wall of purple. Zeb pushed Kallus into a room, away from the pursuing Thrawn._
> 
> _“Thank you, Zeb,” Kallus said, feeling safe for the first time since this all began, since Bahryn. “Thank you for saving me.”_
> 
> _“You’re not out of danger yet,” rumbled Zeb. “I’ll get you outta here, but it’s gonna cost you.”_
> 
> _“Will I live? Will the Rebellion have a chance?”_
> 
> _“Maybe. Probably.”_
> 
> _“And if I don’t?”_
> 
> _“Everyone dies.”_
> 
> _“Then do it.”_
> 
> _Before Kallus knew what was happening, he fell to the ground. In front of his eyes, his leg was shredded in front of him amid excruciating pain, the ribbons of flesh and meat looking exactly like the carnage left behind on Lasan. “Wait! Wait! I didn’t know what you meant!”_
> 
> _“Too late.” There was almost a cruel laugh in Zeb’s voice. “You’ve outlived your usefulness, Fulcrum. We don’t need you anymore._ I _don’t need you anymore.”_
> 
> _“No!” Kallus cried again. “I still know more! I can still help!”_
> 
> _“Then get up and_ help _.”_

Gasping, Kallus woke, finding himself staring at the hospital ceiling again.

“Hey, you’re okay.”

Zeb’s voice, softer and kinder than he’d been in the dream. The lasat laid a hand on Kallus’s arm, fur even softer than his voice. Momentarily, Kallus felt a pang of anger over Zeb’s decision, but he shut that down. There wasn’t time for anything except action.

“Zeb,” said Kallus between gulps of air. “I need to go… I have to… Help me, Zeb.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Zeb said, shaking his head.

Kallus got his breathing under control by sheer willpower. “You _don’t understand_ ,” he pleaded, a little bit of whine in his voice. “It’s been three days. Thrawn may already know where the base is. I have to– _We_ have to save them. You have to take me there.”

Zeb stared at Kallus, saying nothing.

Kallus hoped Zeb was at least considering what Kallus said. “Zeb, your people, your crew are there. Don’t they deserve to know as quickly as possible?”

“I’ll send ‘em a comm,” Zeb said.

“No,” Kallus argued. “If Thrawn knows, he’s monitoring all communications to and from the planet by now. He’ll track the signal here, to Nar Shaddaa, and then _this_ planet will pay, too. It’s got to be in person.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone.”

“You can’t,” Kallus agreed. “I need to be there. You have to get me out of here, Zeb. Now.”

Zeb glanced down the length of the bed. “You can’t go anywhere like this.”

“Do this for me, Zeb, and I’ll go to any medical center in the galaxy that you like. Find me a crutch and I’ll get out of here under my own power. If you don’t, well, I’ll crawl out of here and to a ship for hire if I have to.” As Kallus spoke, he could tell Zeb was starting to entertain the idea. “I’ll do it. Don’t test me,” he warned.

Zeb sat there for a few minutes, staring at the foot of Kallus’s bed. Kallus hoped Zeb came to a decision soon; he really needed Zeb’s assistance if he was going to help the Rebellion in a timely manner.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” Zeb asked. “You’ll go back to a med center as soon as we get off At– the planet?”

Kallus almost laughed and gestured to himself. He was in thin hospital clothing that barely covered him and as far as he knew, he hadn’t showered in three days. There was no telling what his hair looked like. “Do you really think I’d _like_ to go out in public looking like this, much less try to plead my case to strangers who have good reason to hate me? If this didn’t need to get done, I’d stay here. But I _can’t_ watch the Rebellion fall when I could have stopped it. I can’t watch the Empire commit yet another massacre with my assistance.”

Zeb reached toward the head of the bed, fumbled with something, and the pressure on Kallus’s head was lifted as he was freed first from that strap, then from all the others. “You stay here; I’ll find a crutch or something,” Zeb instructed.

“Like I’m going anywhere without you,” Kallus said morosely, getting his first look at the empty space where his leg ought to have been. He couldn’t quite comprehend the sight right away; his brain wanted to fill in the missing shape, to see _anything_ but a blanket lying flat against the bed.

Zeb left and Kallus squeezed his eyes shut. _I’ve done some truly horrendous things in my past,_ he thought. _Maybe I deserve this. No, I know I do. I deserve worse. I only need to deliver my message to the Rebellion and then I can face whatever retribution the galaxy has in store for me. Maybe I’ll be strong enough. Maybe Zeb won’t have to pay for my wrongs just because he’s my soulmate._

The crutch idea had been yet another of Kallus’s stupid ideas, in Zeb’s opinion, and for good reason. One look at Kallus and it was obvious he was still weak all over from his ordeal. Kallus had attempted to stand, crumpling to the ground instead, only barely stopping a cry of pain.

So Zeb did the next best thing; he picked Kallus up and carried him out of the med center.

Some of the nurses tried to stop him, but a quick flash of fangs and a low growl drove them back. Not even the security guards seemed eager to try and stop him from leaving with Kallus in his arms.

They made quite a sight as Zeb rushed through the streets of the Corellian Sector, aliens of all species parting to let them through. Kallus clung to Zeb’s neck, just like he had on Bahryn, and Zeb tried to move without touching what was left of Kallus’s right leg.

At the spaceport, he found Hobbie and Chopper relaxing together by the _Phantom II_ , just where he’d left them. Hobbie stood quickly. “What’s going on?” he asked, sounding bewildered.

“I left against medical advice,” said Kallus, a touch of exhausted amusement in his voice.

Chopper warbled disapprovingly at Zeb. 

Zeb wasn’t entirely fluent in binary, but he got the gist of what the droid meant anyway. “We’re going home,” he explained. “The Empire knows where we are and we need to evacuate.”

Hobbie’s eyes widened and he nodded, quickly folding up his chair and rushing into the shuttle, Chopper close behind.

Carefully, as if he were dealing with a sleeping kit, Zeb placed Kallus in a passenger’s seat and strapped him in over both shoulders. Kallus gave him a sour look, as if he felt patronized, but Zeb didn’t care. Last thing he wanted was for Kallus to get hurt worse.

As soon as Zeb strapped himself into the co-pilot’s chair, Hobbie took off, quickly dealing with Nar Shaddaa Spaceport Authority to get permission to leave. Once they exited the atmosphere, Hobbie fed Chopper the planned jumps. The droid made some quick calculations and they shot off into hyperspace.

Zeb breathed easier. He knew they weren’t headed straight to Atollon, but they were on the way. If Thrawn’s people were as good as Kallus insinuated, the base could be attacked any moment.

Swiveling his chair around, Zeb caught Kallus reaching for the stump of his leg, as if to examine it. Zeb’s fur riffled, embarrassed he’d interrupted something that was obviously personal in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.

Kallus looked away, bracing himself on the chair’s armrests as the motion made him list to the right.

_Oh yeah, I didn’t think about his balance being off. Guess a lot of things are off now._

He’d had three days to do nothing but think, but Zeb still wasn’t sure how he really felt about everything going on. He’d been so focused on Kallus in the abstract for so long – in his dreams, getting the others to trust him as Fulcrum, the rescue efforts, keeping him alive long enough to get to Nar Shadaa – that it was almost jarring to face the actual man. It hit him that for all of the insane and intense things that had happened between him and his soulmate, Zeb had only spent one night in the man’s conscious presence. 

_I don’t really know him at all, do I?_

They needed to talk, desperately. They needed to figure out where they stood with each other, what the soul bond was supposed to mean for them, but it wasn’t the right place or time, not with Hobbie right there.

Zeb turned back around, repressing a sigh. They’d find a time and place to talk. Zeb would just have to wait until then.

The four hour trip to Atollon passed in near silence, the shuttle’s atmosphere heavy with awkward glances and unanswered questions. A few times, Hobbie opened his mouth like he wanted to ask something, but he never did – and neither Zeb nor Kallus encouraged him.

Seeing Chopper Base appear on their sensors wasn’t a relief to Zeb this time, like it normally was, but something anxiety-inducing. The base wasn’t a safe haven anymore and Kallus had to convince everyone of that. Preferably quickly, so Zeb could get him back to professional medical care. It would be difficult to figure out their soul bond with Kallus if the man died of infection and overexertion first.

Zeb flipped the switch on the comm unit and requested a meeting of the Council as soon as possible; Fulcrum had urgent information that needed to be acted upon right away.

Hera answered with a calm assurance that she’d round up everyone she could. Just hearing her voice soothed some of Zeb’s worries. Hera was competent. Hera would listen.

Hobbie landed the shuttle next to the _Ghost_ with a light hand. Already, through the viewports, Zeb could see a sizeable crowd gathering.

Everyone wanted to see Fulcrum, it seemed. Surely they didn’t know what had happened to Kallus or they wouldn’t be rude enough to crowd the shuttle like this.

When the hatch raised, Zeb stood in the doorway, making himself take up as much room as possible. “Get!” he shouted. “This ain’t a zoo.”

Most of them scattered, but a small group in the middle stayed: the Spectres and a couple of medics with a floatation chair.

_Good. Hera prepared them._

“Is Agent Kallus okay?” asked Ezra.

Chopper dropped out of his wing slot and rolled around to greet Hera, who gave him a quick pat. 

“He’s not an agent anymore,” Zeb corrected, a little sharper than he meant. “Just Kallus. And he probably will be.”

“You’d better hope so, since he left the med center so quickly,” said Hera disapprovingly.

Zeb couldn’t argue. She was right; if Kallus got an infection or something, it’d be Zeb’s head on the chopping block for helping him leave. He nodded and disappeared back into the shuttle, passing Hobbie, and gently unstrapped Kallus. Speaking quietly, he said, “They’ve brought you a chair so you don’t have to hang onto me the whole time. You ready to go out there?”

Kallus took a deep breath. “Time is of the essence,” he replied.

That wasn’t exactly a yes, but it was close enough, and probably as much as Zeb would get from Kallus. “Okay. Here goes.” Zeb picked him up delicately, avoiding his injuries. He carried Kallus out to the floatation chair and waiting medics, noticing with a pang of regret how even this small group of people openly stared at Zeb’s soulmate. He wanted to tell them all to look away and let Kallus have some dignity.

Once he was in the chair, Kallus let go of Zeb, flashing him a brief expression that might have been thanks, or it might have been pain. Zeb didn’t know him well enough to be sure.

Kallus didn’t show weakness again, though. As if he wasn’t sitting there with a major injury, he turned the chair to Hera. “Is the Council assembled?”

“We’ve got Dodonna and the Phoenix Cell leaders,” said Hera. “They’re waiting on you.”

“Take me there.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to visit our med bay first?” she asked, obviously concerned.

“Later,” said Kallus, face set in concentration. He hit the chair’s controls, releasing the brake, and followed Hera into the base, medics trailing behind him.

Zeb stood there, unsure of what to do. He was head of base security, so technically he ought to be at the meeting, too, but he really wanted to take a few minutes for himself. He also worried about Kallus’s ability to get his message across; under normal circumstances, the man had an imposing presence that needed no backup, but like this? Zeb wanted to be there to support him, but he was afraid his ‘help’ would end up drawing attention to the missing leg and undermine Kallus’s words.

_Karabast, I wish I knew what to do._

Kanan came up to Zeb, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hera told us what happened to Kallus. You okay?”

Zeb frowned. “Me? I’m not the one who got hurt.”

“But your soulmate did,” Sabine pointed out. “Pretty badly.”

“Plus you finally got him here and he’s safe from the Empire,” said Ezra.

Zeb shook his head. “I don’t know that any of us are safe, kid. Kal’s in there trying to convince everyone to evacuate the base. He thinks Thrawn can track us from the stuff he had to leave behind.”

“You must think so, too, to take him out of the med center looking like that. He’s pretty rough, inside and out, buddy.” Kanan turned toward Zeb, but Zeb couldn’t read his expression under the mask.

“I dunno,” Zeb admitted, wishing he had Kanan’s ability to sense Kallus’s mindset through the Force. “I know _he_ believes it and _I_ believe he’s stupid enough that he’d have tried to get here without my help. At least this way I can force him back into a center when this is all over.”

“Zeb, you really hit the soulmate lottery,” laughed Ezra. “First, it’s Kallus and he wants to kill us. Now, he doesn’t but it turns out he’s insane. Well, more insane than we thought.”

“Shut it, you little Loth-rat,” growled Zeb, but Ezra’s words lifted his spirits a little. If the Spectres could joke about Kallus joining them, then they were okay with the idea. He ruffled Ezra’s short hair and the kid grinned.

Zeb looked at Kanan. “What’s the mood in there?”

“About Kallus joining us? Mixed.” Kanan shrugged.

“Cade and her commandos are pretty loudly against him joining us,” Sabine said. “She and I usually agree, but not on this.”

“Hera’s pilots are for him, though,” Ezra said. “Since he saved Wedge and Hobbie and all.”

“And Sato?” Zeb asked.

“He’s the one who’s been working with Kallus, so we think he’ll listen, but he’s playing his cards close to his chest,” said Kanan. “He and Dodonna’ll be the deciding votes.”

Zeb nodded, a little amazed at how firmly the Spectres stood with him and Kallus instead of against their former enemy. “Okay, well, sounds like there’s nothing else to do but let Kal make his case. Can we go get food? I haven’t eaten since before his surgery last night.”

The teenagers made excuses, but Kanan followed Zeb to the commissary.

“Kal?” asked Kanan as they walked.

“It seemed to fit,” said Zeb, shrugging.

“Doesn’t he have a first name you could use?”

“Alexsandr. But he hasn’t told me to use it. Just told me what it was on Bahryn.”

“Alexsandr?” Kanan seemed almost amused. “Figured it’d be some obscure Coruscanti name, not one you hear all over the Core.”

Zeb lightly punched Kanan’s bicep. “Don’t you start in on him, too. Bad enough when Ezra does it.”

That made Kanan actually laugh. “This is an adjustment for everyone,” he pointed out. “Joking is normal. But it’ll all work out.”

“The Force tell you that?”

“No,” said Kanan. “I just know you. You won’t give up until it does.”

A chill ran down Zeb’s back, making his fur stand on end, an itchy sensation under his jumpsuit. Kanan had too much trust in him. Zeb wasn’t sure when, how, or _if_ things would ever settle between him and Kallus. He didn’t know how he wanted them to settle, either.

_Ashla, help us all._

Fresh from the hospital without a change of clothes and no idea what his hair looked like after three days in bed, Kallus knew he had to be a sight. He was sure his face betrayed the exhaustion and grief he felt. Pain, too, since the medications he’d been given on Nar Shaddaa were wearing off and he was also pretty sure the bloody spots on his bandaged lack-of-leg were growing.

Ignoring all of that, Kallus made himself focus on the people around him. General Jan Dodonna was present by holo and the rest of the room was made up of a few Rebels he recognized from his ISB files and a few he – surprisingly – didn’t.

Commander Sato leaned against the briefing table and looked straight at him. “You have news for us, Fulcrum?”

“Bad news,” Kallus confirmed. “Thrawn discovered I was Fulcrum and confronted me about it, forcing me to flee before I could secure my personal datapad from my quarters or wipe its memory clean. It was heavily, _heavily_ encrypted, but the Empire has excellent slicers. I’ve no doubt that given some time, which they’ve certainly had, they’ll be able to crack my encryptions and discover information that will lead them here to Atollon. I’m afraid you need to abandon this base; Thrawn may already be on the way.”

A murmur made its way around the room. One young woman stepped forward and up to the table. “And why should we believe you?” she asked, the slightest hint of an accent in her voice.

Kallus studied her for a second while he decided how to answer her very valid question. He hadn’t noticed her before because her brown complexion and black hair blended into the room’s shadowy edges. That accent, though… Tierfon, he thought. A former Rebel stronghold, now firmly under the Empire’s thumb. If she’d been chased off her world – an understatement for what likely happened when the Empire pacified the defiant planet – no wonder she was distrustful. “The only thing I can offer is my past performance as Fulcrum.”

“He’s helped us numerous times, Cade,” said Captain Syndulla. “You’ve taken your commandos on missions based on his intelligence.”

The woman crossed her arms, still looking unhappy. “I took my commandos on missions based on _your_ intelligence, Hera. I know my people and what they can handle. I _don’t_ know this Fulcrum and I don’t know that he didn’t leave that datapad behind on purpose.”

“Commander Lissiri,” Sato said calmly. “We knew it was only a matter of time before Grand Admiral Thrawn found us. At least, thanks to Agent Kallus, we have warning.”

“But where will we go?” asked a short man in a green pilot’s uniform. Commander Ran Lindemann, Kallus thought, recognizing him from his wanted poster.

“We’ve been prepared for this possibility for some time,” said General Dodonna. “Phoenix Cell will merge with the Massassi Group.”

“So we’re going to do this?” asked Commander Lissiri. “We’re taking _his_ word for it?”

“Yes,” said Sato firmly. “I’m issuing evacuation code K-1-0. I understand you may have trust issues and you are certainly entitled to be cautious on behalf of your people. No one here has the slightest doubt that you have their best interests at heart. It’s up to you if your commandos follow us to the Yavin system, Commander Lissiri, but know I have faith in Fulcrum and the work he has done for the Rebellion.”

Lissiri frowned but nodded. “We’re committed to the Rebellion. We’re following. _Someone_ has to be there to fight off the Imps if he’s leading them straight to us.”

“May the Force be with us, then,” said Sato. “Officers, you know your evacuation duties and stations. Be sure to coordinate your efforts. Inform your people and get into the air as soon as possible.”

Kallus blinked slowly, in lieu of a relieved sigh. The Rebels were listening to him. They were going to escape, if the Force was actually with them.

The Force was such a nebulous concept and not discussed among the Imperial ranks – such things were left to Inquisitors and Sith Lords and the Emperor himself – so Kallus wasn’t sure if he could trust the idea of it or not. He supposed he’d have to learn how to, as a Rebel.

Anything to distance himself from his Imperial past.

Zeb pushed a pallet of crates onto the _Ghost_ , handing the floating pallet off to Ezra in the hold. They’d both worked up a sweat – not from the weightless crates, but from the speed at which they worked.

Ezra used the Force to stack the crates to the ceiling and then strap them down. “Hey, Zeb!” he called, catching Zeb before he left for the next load of munitions crates. “Is this as weird for you as it is for me?”

“What’s weird?”

Ezra lowered his hands and looked at Zeb. “Having Agent Kallus here, for one thing, but mostly you. You’ve been totally different lately.”

“Me?” Zeb’s ears flattened. “What do you mean, me?”

“This time last year, you’d’ve killed Kallus right away if you got the chance. But today, you made sure he went to the med bay after the meeting, just like if it’d been one of us.” Ezra shrugged. “It’s really weird to see how you’ve changed.”

Zeb wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I guess I got to know him,” he said, knowing it wasn’t really the truth – but since the truth was a firm ‘I don’t know’, it was better than nothing.

“‘Got to know him’? Zeb, all we know about him is that he wanted to kill us for two years. And then you spent the night with him on that moon and suddenly he’s a Rebel now?” Ezra held up a hand to stop Zeb from interrupting. “I’m not saying he’s a spy. He’s helped out a lot this past year. I know your soul bond has been really strong, but do you actually know who he is anymore? If he’s not Agent Kallus, who is he?”

Ezra’s questions were hauntingly similar to the ones Zeb had asked himself while he watched Kallus sleep in that med center. “Kid…” he started. “He’s a Rebel now. Isn’t that all we need to know?”

“Not really.” Ezra frowned. “Not if he’s your soulmate. Not if you’re changing, too. I mean come on, when was the last time you chased me through the ship because I ate the last of your waffles? When was the last time you drew with Sabine? Or cooked dinner with Hera?”

That was true, Zeb realized. He’d been so distracted by the soul bond that he hadn’t even noticed he’d quit interacting with the others the same. “I’m sorry, Ezra,” he said.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Ezra said. “Just think about it, okay? Figure out who he is and what that means for you. We’ll still be here.”

Zeb didn’t answer; one of the pilots was arriving with a new pallet of crates. _‘If he’s not Agent Kallus, who is he?’ I’ve seen enough of him to know he’s not an ISB drone. But who_ have _I seen? Kallus? Kal? Alexsandr? Someone else?_

_Guess I’ll just have to figure that out._

Kallus was impressed with how quickly and efficiently the Rebels packed up the base and loaded everything into the waiting transports. He’d missed most of the evacuation – Zeb had dragged him to the med bay, where the medics had given him painkillers that knocked him out despite his protests – but the base was nearly abandoned.

At present, he was strapped to a chair on the _Ghost_ , sitting behind Captain Syndulla with Zeb standing watch behind him. The _Ghost_ , like every other available ship, was packed with an assortment of crates and Rebels, mostly in the hold. Kallus wasn’t quite sure when he’d ended up in the cockpit, but there were worse places to find himself.

Besides, it was somewhat interesting to finally see the interior of the ship he’d spent so long hunting.

 _“Last ships launching in five,”_ said a voice over the comm.

“Acknowledged,” said Syndulla, turning the _Ghost_ to face away from the fleet and into the vastness of space. “We’ll follow when the last transport is away.”

From his seat, Kallus could just barely see the scanner, noting when six blips appeared leaving the surface of Atollon.

“That’s all of them?” he asked quietly, unsure if he should even speak to the others.

“That’s all of them,” confirmed Syndulla. “We’re good to go, thanks to you.”

In the co-pilot’s chair, Jarrus froze. “No, we’re not.”

Almost as soon as he spoke, six Star Destroyers and two Interdictors dropped out of hyperspace. The Seventh Fleet.

By sheer luck – or maybe it _was_ the Force at work – all the Rebel ships were far enough from the Destroyers that the two Interdictors wouldn’t affect them.

“Prepare for hyperspace _now_!” Syndulla instructed the other pilots.

The Rebel ships might have been out of range of the gravity wells, but they weren’t far enough away from the other ships’ turbolasers. Before the five ships could line up along the hyperspace route, the Destroyers fired.

At first, all shields held. But then Kallus watched in horror as two ships – both Alderaanian make – lost their shields and broke up, pieces floating apart in space. “No,” he whispered. He’d tried so hard to get to the Rebels in time, but he’d failed. If he hadn’t dropped that damned detonator, if he hadn’t spent three days on Nar Shaddaa, all of the Rebels would have been safely away days ago.

Every single death on those two ships was on his head.

“ _Jump!”_ said Syndulla.

The remaining three ships blipped out of sight. Syndulla fired up the _Ghost_ ’s engines and soon, they were in hyperspace as well.

Kallus shuddered and closed his eyes. His first act as a full-blown Rebel and he’d failed everyone. That woman in the briefing had been right not to trust them; he’d brought the Empire right down on their heads.

He’d betrayed the Rebels, too.

A heavy hand settled on his shoulder. _Zeb._

Syndulla turned to look at Kallus. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did, we would have been caught completely off-guard. We might have lost everybody.”

Kallus didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything, not without confessing his failures, and he didn’t want to do that. Not in front of the people who were supposedly his new comrades. Not if he wanted them to accept him.

Jarrus looked around the cockpit – at Kallus, Zeb, Bridger, and Wren – and said, “It’s a long jump, guys. Probably good if we all get some sleep. Hera ‘n’ I’ll take the first watch. You guys bed down. Ezra, take my bunk so that Zeb can stay with Kallus if he needs help.”

Bridger groaned, but didn’t talk back. 

Kallus, on the other hand, protested. “Just leave me in the chair,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

Syndulla gave him a sharp look. “You’re hurt and probably overexerted yourself today. If you’re going to help us in the future, we need you healthy. Go get some rest.”

Well, Kallus couldn’t argue with that tone of voice.

Instead of helping him to his chair, Zeb picked Kallus up again, despite Kallus objecting loudly, and took him to a bunkroom. It was obviously Zeb’s; the room smelled of lasat. Kallus thought he had some recollection of being here before, right after escaping, but none of the memories were clear.

Zeb laid him down on the bottom bunk and then left for a moment, returning with some water and another pain tablet. “Here,” he said.

“Thank you,” Kallus replied, more grateful for the water than for the medication.

“I’m gonna be in the top bunk,” Zeb explained. “Jus’ shout if you need me. Think I’m gonna sleep, too.”

Kallus nodded. Zeb had probably worked hard getting everything loaded for the evacuation and he’d probably work hard getting everything unloaded on Yavin 4. “I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” Zeb pulled himself into the bunk without using the ladder and fell silent.

Kallus listened to him breathing for a bit, noting the moment his breaths became snores. It was a steady, soothing sound, actually. It almost made Kallus forget his failures and feel safe.

Maybe Yavin 4 would let him start afresh with the Rebellion. Maybe he’d find some way to contribute, even missing a leg. Maybe he’d be accepted.

Big maybes, to be sure, but still possible.

Kallus closed his eyes, finally relaxing enough to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Somehow, miraculously, Kallus fell asleep and he stayed asleep for nearly twelve hours. He missed the arrival at Yavin 4 and the unloading of people and cargo.

“Don’t wake him,” Hera said quietly, in the common room once the _Ghost_ was empty. “He probably needs it. I’m going to go talk to the medics to see what they suggest. You stay here, Zeb, in case he wakes up. Kanan, Ezra, Sabine, go find General Dodonna and make sure all our people are billeted properly. I don’t want anyone sleeping on the ground. Chopper, guard the ship.”

Marching orders issued, everyone scattered. Zeb snuck back into his bunkroom, carrying his wicker chair with him. He settled in, planning to read through one of Hera’s holonovels – _not_ one of the trashy ones from Atollon, a proper and decent story – but kept getting distracted.

Kallus moved in his sleep, twitching, clenching his hands, short gasps for air. 

Zeb was pretty sure that wasn’t normal for humans. Ezra and Kanan certainly didn’t sleep that way.

He bent by the head of the bed and placed a hand on Kallus’s forehead. The touch seemed to calm the man a bit.

When Ezra slept, he flopped on his stomach and looked totally relaxed, often drooling a bit. Kanan slept without moving in whatever position he fell asleep in; sitting, standing, or lying down.

Kallus didn’t seem to fit into that spectrum, even with Zeb attempting to help him. His face was screwed up – Zeb guessed in pain – and he whimpered. Zeb hadn’t heard Kallus make such pitiful noises even when he was being tossed around on Bahryn. He was used to seeing Kallus composed and in control; this lack of it was unnerving.

With his other hand, Zeb reached down and picked up one of Kallus’s, letting the sleeping man squeeze his larger fingers tightly.

 _You’re finally seeing his hands_ , whispered a small thought from the back of Zeb’s mind. _For real, not just in a dream._

Studying the hand in his, Zeb noted the scars, both small and large, just as he’d seen them in the dreams. He knew Kallus was big for a human, or at least tall, but Zeb’s hand still dwarfed his. And five fingers? How did humans put up with the extra one?

Zeb debated waking Kallus and seeing if he fell asleep more peacefully on a second try, but what little he knew of his personality told Zeb that Kallus would probably insist on staying awake instead and he needed all the sleep he could get while he was wounded.

“We’ve got a med center for him.”

Turning to face the door without letting go of Kallus’s hand, Zeb saw Hera standing in the hallway. She glanced at their hands, but didn’t comment.

“Here?”

“No, Saffia, on Serenno. The planet’s not Rebel-aligned, but they have no love for the Empire. There’s a good med center there that can fit him with a cybernetic. They’ve handled the cases the Rebellion’s medics can’t care for properly without letting the Empire getting word of them.”

Zeb nodded. That sounded about as safe as they could get. “When can we leave?”

“I’m sending you in the _Phantom II_ again. I’d fly you myself but…”

“You’re needed here.”

Hera nodded. “Both Wedge and Hobbie have volunteered to fly you. Take your pick.”

“Let Hobbie take a break. Wedge can fly us, if you can spare him.”

“Wouldn’t have asked them if I couldn’t. Wedge is a good kid and a great pilot. You’ll be in good hands. I’ll go get him, unless you need something planetside first.”

“I think the sooner we get there, the better,” Zeb said, pulling his hand from Kallus’s and standing.

“I’ll go get Wedge, then, if you and Chopper get the _Phantom II_ fueled back up.”

“Hey, Hera?” Zeb said before she could leave. “Thanks.”

“Family,” she reminded him. “Guess that includes him now, too.”

Four days and two surgeries later, Kallus sat in the Yavin 4 med bay, trying not to look at the cybernetic leg he’d gotten on Serenno. He failed miserably.

It _looked_ like a leg. It felt like skin and muscle. It transmitted nerve sensations. It even had fake hair and toenails. When the junction finished healing, no one would ever be able to tell it wasn’t Kallus’s real leg. And, supposedly, he would quickly learn to walk on it as if it were his real leg. Some of the other Rebel veterans he’d met even told him they sometimes forgot their cybernetics weren’t real.

But it _wasn’t_ real and that bothered him more than anything. It wasn’t _his_ leg. It didn’t have the shrapnel scars on his shin from Lasan, or the long one he got on his thigh when Bridger Force shoved him through that transparisteel panel. It was too pristine.

“All right, you’re done for today. Use the crutch if you need it, but the more you practice, the sooner you’ll be walking normally again.” The young human who was Kallus’s physical therapist spoke cheerfully; the sound grated against Kallus’s nerves.

 _‘Walk normally’? I’m missing a leg; I won’t ever walk normally again, you baby-faced laser brain. Am I really going to have to put up with you for the next few months?_ Kallus grimaced but kept his thoughts to himself. He used the crutch to stand and hobbled out of the med bay. 

He’d hoped to make it back to his quarters to have some alone time, but no such luck. A private – another perky young being; Kallus was tired of those – waited for him in front of the block of temple bunkrooms. 

“Alexsandr Kallus? Sir?” the weequay girl asked. “General Draven wants to talk to you.”

 _Ah._ Davits Draven, local head of the Rebel Intelligence division. Kallus had expected this; it was only a matter of time before Intelligence attempted to wring Imperial knowledge from him. He was only surprised it had taken Draven this long to send for him.

Kallus followed the private into a small room obviously set up for low-level interrogations. Draven was there, but he wasn’t alone. Dodonna, Mon Mothma, Sato, and Syndulla – the latter two having been promoted to general since the merger of their cell into the larger Massassi Group – all sat at a table with him, none looking entirely happy. A single chair waited opposite them.

Obviously that chair was for Kallus. He took it without waiting for instruction, glad to be off his feet again. Well, _foot_.

Kallus was familiar with Syndulla, Sato, and Dodonna and knew Mon Mothma from her very public Senatorial resignation. Draven was more of a shadowy figure; his reputation amongst the ISB was built on rumors and whispers and Kallus was curious to learn more.

Draven was one of the few human men on Yavin 4 who was built like Kallus, with his height and mass. Kallus suspected some of the clothes he’d been gifted with upon arrival came from Draven’s closet, but of course there was no way to prove that short of asking. The man was imposing and cold; perfect for an Intelligence general who had to make hard decisions.

Kallus respected that.

“Alexsandr Kallus,” said ex-Senator Mothma, her voice light and friendly. “What do you prefer to be called?”

“Kallus is fine.” _Just don’t call me Agent._

“All right, Kallus. You must realize we don’t often have high-ranking ISB agents like yourself defecting. We’ve been discussing how to handle your unique circumstances and there’s a little bit of disagreement.”

_This is it, Alexsandr. They’re going to kick you out, or make you disappear because you know too much but can’t contribute._

“Most of us agree that you would be a great asset to the Intelligence Division, especially until you are cleared for field missions again and are no longer being actively sought by the Empire for treason.” Mothma glanced over at Draven, who leaned forward.

“I’ve heard plenty of arguments from Generals Sato and Syndulla about the help you gave their cell,” he said. “But you have to admit, you are also uniquely positioned to serve as a double agent, so I’m understandably skeptical of your defection.”

Kallus wanted to laugh, to gesture to his leg, to ask just how far undercover Draven thought he was, but he didn’t. “As I told the leaders of Phoenix Cell, I have only my track record as Fulcrum to speak for me. My actions tell the truth of the matter, more than any words can.”

Draven nodded. “My advice to the Council was to keep you isolated for a time, until it could be determined you weren’t here to betray us, too, but I’ve been outvoted. You’ll be working as an analyst for us, unless some other department wants you.”

 _I’ll be kept from any important information that might actually make a difference, I’m sure._ “I’ll be glad to help wherever I can, General.”

“After consulting with the others on the Council,” Dodonna said, giving Draven a tired look, “it’s been decided that you’ll be granted the rank of Captain and given additional duties as you are able and willing to take them on. Your work as Fulcrum has not gone unrecognized.”

That had not been what Kallus expected. He rocked back a little, surprised. “Thank you,” he said. “I hope I won’t give you any cause to regret your decision.” 

“You’ll do just fine, _Captain_ Kallus, as long as you focus on getting yourself back to one hundred percent quickly.” General Syndulla gave him a little smile. “I believe Zeb is waiting for you in the mess, so you’d better go before they stop serving lunch.”

“Find me in an hour,” instructed Draven, handing him a rank insignia. “We’ll get you a desk and some work to do.”

“Yes, sir.” The Rebel leaders were kind enough to look away as Kallus struggled to stand and lean on the crutch once more. _Stars, I need to get off this crutch if I’m to actually hold rank. But… not just yet._

The Yavin 4 mess was aptly termed. There were lines for food, but it was haphazard what might be served any day. The Rebellion tried to accommodate the diets of all its species, from vegetarian to carnivorous, but that required a _lot_ of supplies and a lot of enlisted pilots and soldiers on kitchen duty. The cavernous room echoed with a thousand different conversations as beings relaxed and ate.

Zeb sat at the end of one table, in the quietest corner he’d been able to find, poking at his food. He was too distracted to eat, watching people trickle constantly in and out the doors. He tracked every single one of them, eyes narrowed, waiting for Kallus to inevitably show.

Most of the other Spectres – everyone other than Hera, really – had left to help Sabine on Mandalore or Zeb would have eaten with them. As it was, he’d stayed behind because of Kallus. However, Kallus didn’t seem to want him, so Zeb had no official assignments, no friends to distract him, and one soulmate to worry about; it was making him extremely antsy.

Zeb didn’t like to worry this much. It grated and it made him uncomfortable. He’d much rather have some direction, some enemy to attack or some task to achieve.

While he was grousing, Kallus entered the mess, saw him, and made his way to Zeb’s table, still relying on his crutch. Zeb wasn’t surprised about that, but he’d hoped that maybe _this_ physical therapy session, Kallus would realize he didn’t need it anymore.

Dropping heavily into the seat opposite Zeb, Kallus sighed as if he were exhausted. In lieu of greeting Zeb, he tossed a little metal rectangle onto the table.

Zeb picked it up. “Captain?” he asked, recognizing the tab. “Hera said they wanted to give you a rank, but that Draven was being stubborn. He changed his mind?”

Kallus huffed, scratching at his mutton chops. “Hardly, but he was overruled.”

“You should put this on.” Zeb handed the insignia back. “Make it official.”

Complying, Kallus pinned the tab on the chest of the green and cream jacket someone had given him. Zeb had expected Yavin 4 to be hot and muggy, but the jungle here was actually fairly cool and most humans seemed to need a jacket or coat to be comfortable. Even Hera was in long sleeves and she usually ran hot.

Zeb grinned. “Looks good. How’s it feel to be an officer again?”

Kallus shook his head slightly. “I wasn’t a ranked officer in the ISB, Zeb. Just an agent. Our hierarchy was determined by our assigned numbers. I was 021 when I defected.”

“So does that mean you were near the top or near the bottom?”

“The top.” Kallus looked away, as if he wanted to downplay the fact.

“Okay, so being an officer is new. You know, I used to be a captain, too,” Zeb confessed before he thought about what he was saying. _Stop worrying, Zeb. If you can talk to anyone about that part of your life, surely you can talk to your soulmate. Maybe it’ll help Kallus open up, too._

“I know,” said Kallus softly. “I had your file memorized.”

Zeb laughed a little. “Because you were hunting me or because we’re soulmates?”

“A little of both?” Kallus shrugged. “It was my job to know everything about you Rebels.”

“Well, good to see that knowledge is being put to use,” Zeb said. “Now you’ll just have to memorize everything there is to know about the Empire.”

“I’ve got a lot of that done already.”

“Kal,” Zeb said. “I know I put it off before, but now that your life isn’t in danger, we need to have that talk.”

Kallus shook his head. “Not now, Zeb. I’ve got less than an hour before I have to report to Draven.”

 _And you don’t want me to push you to walk again,_ Zeb filled in. He had the sudden urge to reach out, grab the crutch, and break it in two so that Kallus would be forced to walk on the new leg. 

He didn’t, though. Kallus might not need the crutch physically, Zeb figured, but he needed it mentally at the moment. He wasn’t ready to face the idea that things might get better or that he could rely on others. On _Zeb._ Wasn’t that what soulmates – at least the friendly ones – were for? Someone you could always count on to have your back?

Sure, Zeb had been part of the Rebellion for a long time, but he’d only been part of something bigger than the Spectres for two years. Kallus was brand new to it all. But Yavin 4 was a new place for them both, and with Hera busy all the time, they only had each other.

_If he’d just let me be there for him, that is._

“Yes, now,” Zeb said, deciding to push. “We don’t have to get deep into it, but karabast, Kal, I want to know where I stand with you.”

“Where you stand with me?” Kallus looked baffled. “Zeb, we’re soulmates.”

“I’ve spent more time watching you sleep in med bays than I have seeing you awake,” Zeb pointed out. “I know that you don’t snore, but I _don’t_ know what you think ‘soulmates’ should mean for us.”

A flush spread over Kallus’s pale cheeks. “I may not know what it’s supposed to mean, but I know it doesn’t mean I owe you an explanation for each and every facet of my life – or whatever it is you think you deserve from me,” he said, sounding perturbed. “I appreciate you trying to help me fit in here, but I’m an adult, Zeb. I know what I can handle and right now that doesn’t include a– a possessive, nosy lasat!”

Shocked, Zeb lashed out. “I’m not being possessive or nosy!” he argued. “This involves me, too, not just you. I want– I want to help you with more than just fitting in. I want to know if I have a friend or an enemy or if you want me to somehow ignore that you exist.”

“You think I need help because I’m an invalid?” hissed Kallus. “I can get by just fine without you carrying me everywhere, Garazeb Orrelios. I can take care of myself.”

Zeb could only watch as Kallus stood again and hobbled off, out of the mess without even eating anything. It was only then that he realized that silence had fallen around them. They’d been overheard, and not by any small number of other Rebels.

 _Karabast._ Even Zeb knew that Kallus was private enough he’d hate that. 

Too late, however. Zeb piled his trash on his plate and disposed of it, leaving the mess as inconspicuously as a two meter tall lasat could manage.

For nearly a week, Kallus avoided Zeb.

It wasn’t that hard; he merely threw himself headfirst into his work in Intelligence with the same gusto he’d had serving the Empire. He ate at his desk, slept in his bunkroom on the base.

Zeb, on the other hand, was doing Force-knew-what and sleeping on the _Ghost_ along with Hera – Kallus had been threatened with his life if he ever called her General Syndulla to her face again.

If it weren’t for the resurgence of the nightmares, Kallus’s plan would have been perfect.

At least when he’d had them before, he’d had quarters to himself. Now, he regularly woke up five other Intelligence officers who were getting increasingly pissed off at him for robbing them of precious sleep. He hated that he was a problem for the other officers, so Kallus started taking short naps at his desk in an effort to stay awake longer at night. 

There was plenty of work to be done, after all. Most of the files that crossed Kallus’s datapad concerned Rebel sympathizers captured by Imperials and efforts to determine their status. Kallus knew from experience that most would be dead, but some would have been sent to Kessel or the shipyards of Sluis Van or other places in need of labor. A staggering number simply disappeared, however, and it was those he tried to track down. He located some on a transport to Jedha, but the trail disappeared in hyperspace.

Someone would have to follow it up in person. 

Stars, but Kallus wished it could be him.

Setting his datapad down, Kallus ran fingers through his hair. He no longer styled it as he had in the Empire – it seemed pointless when there was no one in the Rebellion who cared about his appearance – so it was falling in his eyes more. He idly wondered if the Rebellion had barbers or if he’d have to ask someone to trim it for him in time.

His mind was wandering, he recognized, and he knew why.

Kallus didn’t want to think about being in the field again. Didn’t want to think about what it would _take_ to be in the field again. He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples, willing away a budding headache.

“You okay, Captain Kallus?”

He looked up. The commando leader from Atollon, the one who hadn’t trusted him, stood there, a small stack of datapads in her hands. _Lissiri. Commander Cade Lissiri,_ his brain supplied.

“I’m fine, Commander Lissiri,” he lied. “Just taking a quick break. Can I help you?”

She sat down on the edge of his desk, ratcheting up his anxiety level. “Yeah, actually. See, I’m working on an op right now to bust some people from Kessel, but I need intelligence about who to break out and what’s the best timetable and such.” 

Without waiting for him to respond, she handed him a datapad with the names of Kessel prisoners listed.

“So my guys and I had this idea: if we release some of the troublemakers from Kessel and insert them onto Coruscant and other Imperial strongholds, they’ll cause trouble for the Imps and distract them from us,” she explained. “Problem is, I don’t know any of the prisoners. I figured you Intelligence types would know.”

Kallus nodded. That wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever heard. “And assuming the Imperials lose control of those planets, how do you propose to keep these convicts from causing trouble for _us_?”

She shrugged. “It’ll be part of the deal. We’ll leave them alone to live their lives after if they promise not to work against us. If they do, well.” She drew a finger across her throat.

Scanning through the list, Kallus grabbed a piece of flimsi and started writing down names. “Now, I put away quite a few of these beings, so I can tell you who you’ll likely be able to work with.”

“‘S what Zeb said.”

Kallus froze for a mere moment, but he knew it was long enough for Lissiri to notice. “Did he?” he asked lightly. “Glad you trusted him enough to come to me. I thought you opposed me joining up.”

“You were right about Atollon,” she said. “And Hera was right when she said you’d provided good intelligence. First impressions aren’t always everything.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Kallus nodded.

“Call me Cade, if we’re going to work on this together.”

“Cade, then. Let me make a starting list for you. If you have a limit and need more information to pare the list down, I’ll be glad to help if the Council doesn’t prefer someone else to have a look.” He scrolled down the list and froze again as one of the names jumped out at him.

_Lyste, Yogar_

Kallus lingered over the name. He hadn’t ever followed up on what happened to Lieutenant Lyste, to his shame. Imagining the young man toiling in Kessel’s spice mines…

“Excuse me,” he said, using his crutch to stand. He handed the datapad and flimsi to Cade. “I’m afraid I feel unwell. If you find me in the morning, I’ll be more than happy to finish the list for you.”

Without waiting for a response, he made his way out of the Intelligence room, out of the Temple, off the base entirely. He needed to be alone.

There was a trail he’d heard led to other temples to the south of them, by a river. It was a tough hike with a crutch, the ground covered with roots and leaves and creeping undergrowth, but he soon heard the burbling of water.

Kallus used a tree to leverage himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the trunk.

_I didn’t think about what would happen to Lyste. I didn’t let myself think about it; I was too focused on the mission. If someone pressed me about it, I’d’ve said he was dead._

_I didn’t care._

_I’m a monster._

_I’m a useless monster. All my years of training, all my efforts to be the best and now I’m left with nothing but a crutch and a brain that’s only half here because of pain medication._

Kallus didn’t notice that he’d started crying.

He also didn’t notice the passage of time; he simply sat there, hating himself and listening to the river.

The sound of someone crunching fallen sticks and dried leaves along the trail got his attention. Kallus quickly wiped his eyes and looked up.

“A person abandons his work like this and goes off into the jungle alone, it ain’t a good sign,” said Zeb, crouching opposite him, just out of reach.

Kallus couldn’t argue. “How did you know I was here?” 

“Cade said you ran off suddenly and asked if you were okay. I checked with some of the mechanics and they saw you go off this direction.” Zeb looked down. “I was afraid you’d–”

“I’d what?” Kallus finished for him. “Hurt myself? Not come back? Do something ‘stupid’?”

Zeb bit his lower lip, fangs catching on purple skin for a second. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I don’t know what made you upset, but I thought I’d see if I could help.”

Kallus looked away, towards the water. “You can’t help. Nobody can change my nature, Zeb. I’m going to corrupt everything I touch and that includes you. You don’t deserve that”

Instead of arguing with him, Zeb reached out and handed Kallus something. He took it carefully: a ration bar.

“I’d’ve brought you a full meal, but I didn’t wanna hike all the way out here with a plate.”

“Thank you.” Slowly, just realizing that he was indeed hungry, Kallus unwrapped the bar and took a bite. Like all ration bars, it was tasteless, with a grainy texture, but he was used to living off of them on Imperial ships.

Zeb settled onto the ground, lying back and looking up at the sky. “It’s pretty out here.”

Kallus looked around. The jungle was full of lush colors: dark greens and browns and brightly colored blooms in trees and the river reflecting the vibrant blue of the sky. “I suppose so. I hadn’t really noticed.”

“You should do that more often,” Zeb said. “Now that there’s more to see than black and gray metal.”

“I suppose Imperial facilities _are_ rather monotonous.”

Zeb snorted. “Ya think? Part of trying to make you guys into mindless drones.” He paused. “Glad that didn’t work on you.”

Kallus focused on Zeb once more. “But it did. I followed orders blindly, thinking I was doing the right thing. How many lives did I ruin doing that? And I didn’t even stop when I became Fulcrum. I sacrificed a subordinate in order to save my own hide. He’s at Kessel now, I found out. He did nothing wrong beyond trusting me and he’ll spend the rest of his short life mining spice.”

“Ah. That’s why you left in the middle of talking to Cade. Who was it?”

“What?” Kallus gave Zeb a curious look.

“Tell me about him. Tell me about the things you did. Tell me why you don’t want to move forward with anything here on Yavin 4.”

A chill ran through Kallus. He didn’t want to talk about any of that, but… maybe he needed to.

So Kallus talked. It was a long, wandering tale, starting from his earliest ISB days – and earliest ISB atrocities – all the way up to his betrayal of Lyste. While he talked, Zeb lay still and listened as the twin lights of Yavin and its sun hung lower and lower in the sky.

“…and I helped them drag him off,” he said. “I never asked what happened to him. If Thrawn had truly believed he was the spy, he probably would be dead now. Compared to life in the mines, though, that might have been preferable for him.”

“Kal.” Zeb’s voice was low and rough, rich in the dying daylight.

“Zeb?”

“You realize that everything you did, you made up for when you became Fulcrum, right? Do you know how many lives you saved? How many people are here on this base _just because of you_? Karabast, I might’ve died on Atollon if you hadn’t warned us, so I owe you _my_ life.”

“That’s not how it works, Zeb.” Kallus shook his head. “Things like that, you can’t atone for.”

“I forgive you.”

“What?” asked Kallus, stunned. “You can’t.”

Zeb sat up and faced Kallus. “ _You_ can’t tell me what I can and can’t forgive. And I don’t think you would’ve fought on Lasan if you’d had the choice and control of your own mind. You’ve shown what kind of person you are when you stand alone and that’s a person I can forgive. A person who I want to be friends with. A person I’m happy to call my soulmate.” His expression turned worried and he looked away. “But if that’s not what you want, I’ll leave you alone.”

Kallus didn’t know what to say.

Zeb nodded. “Okay, I get it.”

“No,” said Kallus quickly. “I don’t understand why you’ve been so good to me, because I certainly haven’t earned it, but I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

Zeb chuckled. “Coulda fooled me this week.”

“I’ve been– been an idiot this week. These last two weeks.”

“Ya think?” Zeb shook his head. “Don’t take that like I’m being mean. I coulda come found you whenever. But I thought you needed time.”

Kallus wished Zeb was close enough for him to place his hand on the lasat’s arm, to feel the soft fur beneath his palm. Instead he spoke. “I did. But I think more than anything, I needed a shock. I can’t continue like I am. I– I need your help, Zeb. If I’m going to survive this.”

Silence fell for a moment and Kallus was afraid he’d said the wrong thing.

Zeb looked around. “It’s dark. We should get back to base.” He stood easily and reached a hand out for Kallus.

Something happened; either Kallus stood a little too quickly or Zeb pulled a little too hard, but Kallus ended up face-first in Zeb’s chest. Before he could pull back, Zeb wrapped his arms around him.

_A hug. Am I actually getting a hug?_

Zeb didn’t yank his arms away, so Kallus gingerly returned the hug. Being embraced by the big lasat was comforting in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a child in his father’s arms: safe and warm and welcoming and forgiving.

“Kal, I’ll help you,” Zeb said, whispering. “But I need you to trust me.”

Kallus nodded, still clinging to Zeb. “I do.”

“Good.” Zeb broke the hug and tugged the crutch out of Kallus’s hands. Easily, as if it were nothing, he snapped the crutch in two.

“Zeb! I need that!” Kallus cried.

“No, you don’t. The medics say you don’t. You know you don’t. You’ve just been scared.” Zeb held an arm out. “If you really need something for balance, I’m here. But you need to walk back to base on your own if you want me to help you.”

Biting his lips, Kallus took a few timid steps forward. This wasn’t like the med bay, with flat floors and railings to hold on to. This was just him and his new leg in the jungle.

He didn’t fall.

Zeb hovered nearby, but he was only needed a few times. Kallus walked the entire three and a half kilometers back to base in the dark, with Zeb’s guidance. He was exhausted by the time they reached the landing tarmac, but he’d done it.

“There’s a clearing about a kilometer back down the trail. Get some sleep and meet me there at sunrise,” Zeb instructed when he dropped Kallus off at his room. “The rest of your life starts then.”

“‘The rest of my life’? Zeb, that is a terribly cliché line.”

“Yeah, well, clichés stick around for a reason, don’t they?” Zeb grinned. “I’m serious. Get some sleep. Bring your bo-rifle.”


	8. Chapter 8

In the pre-dawn light, the jungle looked dark and birds – or whatever the local equivalent was – were singing greetings to the sun. In the small clearing, Zeb spun his bo-rifle, a little nervous but utterly confident in what he needed to do.

Zeb didn’t talk much about his days in the Honor Guard, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten them. They guarded the royal family, yes, and served ceremonial purposes, but they were – first and foremost – a martial unit that saw action.

Sometimes, Honor Guard members who left for battle came home missing something. Mentally, spiritually, physically, whatever sort of loss it was, it wasn’t important; all that mattered was that they needed to heal. That they needed to find themselves as warriors once more. And as Captain, it’d been Zeb’s responsibility to assist in the process of healing.

Kallus had been the Warrior prophesied to take the Lasan remnant to Lira San, but it was clear that he was no longer a warrior in his own eyes. He’d lost his leg _and_ his will to fight, it seemed.

That baffled Zeb a bit. Losing a limb – while serious – wasn’t that devastating in Lasat culture. A true warrior learned to work _with_ his body, no matter what, even if it took a while.

“Bo-rifles are quite pretty to watch, aren’t they?” said Kallus, making his way into the clearing. He set down his pack and pulled two self-heating tumblers from the mess and his bo-rifle from the bag. 

Stopping his practice, Zeb took the tumbler Kallus offered him and unscrewed the lid to check – caf, black and sweet-smelling, the way he liked it. Kallus must have asked somebody. “They are and you’re early,” he commented.

“Credo of the Imperial Academy: early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.”

Zeb decided he didn’t want to know how ‘unacceptable’ was dealt with in the Imperial Academy.

“So what are we doing out here?”

“Getting you back on your feet. It’s bad luck for a bo-rifle to sit unused for too long.” That was a bit of exaggeration, but it served Zeb’s purposes.

“Zeb,” said Kallus seriously. “I just stopped using the crutch last night. I _can’t_ start fighting again today.”

 _I know. I was there,_ Zeb was tempted to say, but decided against it, considering the shock he’d given Kallus when he took away the crutch so abruptly and his determination to get Kallus back on his feet in more ways than one. “Not fighting,” Zeb said. “Practicing. Positions and movement and getting your balance back.”

Kallus did not look thrilled. “Basics?”

“Basics.” Zeb nodded. “You’ve got to start somewhere.”

“No, I don’t,” Kallus argued. “I’m fine working at a desk.”

“Are you really? Is that what you _really_ want to do the rest of your life?” Zeb twirled the bo-rifle idly with one hand while he sipped his caf with the other. “Wouldn’t you rather be out in the galaxy, on the war’s front lines, instead of just sending people there? Instead of sending me off there? Come on, get your bo-rifle ready.”

Kallus glared, but he complied. Yellow electricity crackled at the end of his weapon, juxtaposing nicely with the purple of Zeb’s bo-rifle. The light brought out the gold in the human’s eyes, evoking fierceness despite the uncertainty on his face.

Caf set safely aside, Zeb showed Kallus the basics as his own Honor Guard Captain had shown him, when he was young. As he’d shown every raw recruit under his own leadership and every warrior who needed help fighting their personal battles.

Fighting Kallus before, it’d been obvious he was self-taught when it came to the bo-rifle. Self-taught _well_ , drawing on various staff-fighting methods, but he didn’t fight like a lasat. If he added the lasat warrior ways to his arsenal, it was possible that Kallus could be nearly unstoppable.

Zeb _really_ wanted to see that.

Once Zeb was sure Kallus had the basic motions down – and that didn’t take long; in addition to being quite intelligent, the man was a diligent student – he moved to the most simple of combined exercises. He struck out at Kallus lightly with his bo-rifle and Kallus blocked the moves. Each time Kallus finished a cycle of exercises without stumbling, Zeb increased the force he used.

He also tried to distract, to test Kallus’s focus. “Let’s talk,” Zeb said, between strikes. “You weren’t born wearing that karking stupid ISB helmet. What happened before you put it on?”

Kallus pushed back against Zeb, but Zeb held his ground. “No,” Kallus said.

“Tell me about your family.”

“No,” protested Kallus. “I don’t think about them anymore.”

“We’ll trade,” Zeb said. “We ought to know about each other, right? Tell me about your family and I’ll tell you about mine. Do you have siblings?”

“Three sisters,” Kallus said, gritting his teeth. “Katya, Mila, and Nadja. I’m second.”

“Good. Keep going.” Talking was part of the process, although usually it focused more on talking through the battles and injuries the wounded had experienced. Zeb figured they’d get to that; this was a good chance for him to learn a lot more about Kallus than his soulmate would normally offer up. Even after everything they’d gone through together, up to and including his promise to trust Zeb, Kallus remained guarded.

Kallus blocked his next blow and managed to deflect the force aside, bringing his bo-rifle around in an offensive position. “I get the feeling you’re patronizing me, Zeb.”

Zeb flicked his bo-rifle back into position. “Not patronizing. Encouraging.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“I sure hope not.” Zeb took a step back, drawing Kallus forward and making him move around a bit more. “I was the runt of my litter. Four brothers and they’re all bigger ‘n me. Three little sisters, too. I wasn’t raised with them, though, ‘cos my _djaman gal djadan_ – that’s my aunt and uncle – kept me. Where are your sisters now? Your parents?”

“I don’t know.” Kallus followed Zeb’s movement around the clearing, but he barely seemed to notice he was walking effortlessly. “My father died when I was eleven and my mother gave Katya and me over to the Republic because she couldn’t afford to keep all four of us. We went to the Republic – then Imperial – Academy together and never talked to our mother again.”

“Huh.” Families were so important to lasats, Zeb couldn’t imagine voluntarily giving up children to never see them again. At worst, on Lasan, Kallus and Katya would have been sent to other relatives like Zeb had been. “She survive the Academy? Or was she late too many times?”

Kallus swung his bo-rifle in a low sweep, making Zeb jump. “She’s the moff’s assistant on Carida or was, last we talked. Why didn’t your parents keep you?”

There was sweat on Kallus’s brow, Zeb noticed, and he was breathing heavily. They’d have to stop soon. “Famine hit the planet when I was a small kit. We were split up among family so we could all eat on the rations given to us. My aunt and uncle couldn’t have their own kits, so they kept me when it was all over. I’m not sure my parents missed an extra little one running around underfoot.”

“Do you even remember being with your parents?”

“A little. Mostly I remember my brothers.” Zeb pressed an attack against Kallus, to see if he could back up without falling, and Kallus held his ground. Grinning, he stepped back and brought the bo-rifle to a resting position. “I think that’s all for today,” he said.

Kallus looked around the clearing as if he was confused how he got there. “That’s all you wanted? To go over basics and ask me about my sisters?”

“That’s part of it.” Zeb gestured at the sky, where Yavin loomed large. “But it’s time to clean up and get to work now.”

Nodding, Kallus folded his bo-rifle and stashed it in his pack again.

“Tomorrow, same time,” Zeb instructed.

“Tomorrow?” Kallus looked a little put out.

“And every day from here on out. If you still trust me.”

Kallus frowned for a moment, but acquiesced. “I trust you.”

“Good!” Zeb clapped him on the shoulder, trying not to betray just how much those three words warmed his heart. Kallus actually saying that he trusted him out loud? That was big. “Then we’ll get through this quickly.”

If Kallus’s integrity hadn’t been one of the few things left to him after escaping the Empire, he might have blown Zeb off a few mornings because the constant drill of basics felt demeaning for a man of his skill. But the mental image of Zeb waiting for him, alone in the clearing, was another encouragement to attend. Soon, though, it became a comfortable routine, done with his friend, that Kallus looked forward to. Kallus even entertained the idea that this strict side of Zeb was the Captain Garazeb Orrelios of old, brought back to life.

They still kept a routine outside of their meetings. Zeb joined in with the mechanic’s pool for the time being, unless Hera called on him. Kallus continued to eat at his desk and work late into the night, but he was sleeping deeper now, without nightmares, and waking rested. His Intelligence performance continued to improve and his roommates acted as if they liked him once he wasn’t keeping them awake.

He got to know them decently well. Kieryn and Tare were soulmates dancing around a relationship. Sardeya had a son back on Ord Mantell that she missed terribly. Halron and Ty were constantly running pools on something or another, including one betting when Kieryn and Tare would get together; Kallus put some money in that one good-naturedly.

All in all, things were looking up. Rebel life was just as hard as Imperial life, but it was soft and gentle in many unexpected ways. The sheer fact that Kallus had people he was _friendly_ with made the largest difference.

All his progress came stuttering to a halt one evening. Draven called him into a meeting and soberly informed Kallus that his mother, his sister Katya, and her family had all been executed by the Empire in retribution for his desertion.

Kallus made himself watch the holos, made himself witness their deaths, again and again until he had them memorized. Their deaths were his fault and he wouldn’t shy away from that. _Oh, Katya. I should have warned you but I thought a comm from me would seal your fate. I didn’t know they’d kill you anyway._

He didn’t sleep well that night. Kallus tossed and turned, seeing his nephews’ dead faces every time he closed his eyes.

_Why didn’t they kill Mila and Nadja, too? They took Mother and I haven’t been close to her since I was a child. Maybe they think they can use Mila and Nadja as bait to lure me in._

_It won’t work. I love them as family, but I love the Rebellion more. I love Zeb – and the rest of the Spectres_ , he added quickly – _more. I know the Rebels better than I know my own sisters, so it’s no wonder I’m choosing them._

_But I’m still a monster for doing that._

Come the next morning, he was back out in the jungle with Zeb, who offered to give him a day off to mourn. “You know I understand losing family,” the lasat said gently.

 _I know. I helped kill them, too._ “No,” Kallus said, solid in his convictions. He held his bo-rifle in the ready position. “I’m not going to quit now. Katya wouldn’t want me to.”

“Fair enough,” said Zeb, a phrasing he’d picked up from Kallus. Taking Kallus at his word, Zeb attacked.

There was something cathartic about their mornings in the jungle. Just Kallus and Zeb, training together, talking and learning, and Kallus getting his ass handed to him time and time again once they started sparring at full strength.

He hadn’t worked this hard since hand-to-hand lessons with Master Narcassan at the Academy and Kallus loved it.

Kallus fought back fiercely, pouring all his grief and rage into the motions of the bo-rifle, the dirty fighting tricks he’d learned through experience, not in classes, and in the ferocity with which he pressed forwards against Zeb’s bo-rifle. Of course, Zeb ended up knocking him to the ground, as usual, but Kallus felt he’d found a proper outlet for his emotions. It made facing the rest of the day easier, knowing that come morning, he could scream and yell and try to strike Zeb with all his might. Knowing that Zeb wouldn’t let him actually hurt anybody when he let go.

So for a month, they’d met, practicing basics before moving on to the sparring, asking and answering questions as they went. What was Kallus’s favorite color? Was Zeb’s recurring difficulty with Standard math because lasats learned to count in base eight? What had been Kallus’s best class at the Academy? Had Zeb had any significant others?

“One, but nothing ever came of it. Obviously. She had her own soulmate to find,” Zeb said. “You?”

Kallus frowned in concentration as he jumped over Zeb’s low attack. He wondered if Zeb’s former lover had died on Lasan or made it off-planet. It wasn’t his place to ask, however. “One as well. My hand-to-hand instructor at the ISB Academy. Her soulmate had died, and I thought I would always be alone. I was twenty, she was in her forties, and the sex was great, but she never answered any of my messages after I graduated. After that, the idea of romance left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Can’t imagine the Empire’s a romantic place to start with,” Zeb said.

Kallus arched his eyebrows. “You’d be surprised what people do find there. And isn’t it the same here in the Rebellion? We’re still at war, just a little more casual about it.”

Zeb laughed. “Good point.”

Distracted by that laugh, Kallus got hit in the stomach by a kick from Zeb and he went flying back a couple of meters, falling to his knees.

It hit him, then: at some point over the last month, during these meetings with Zeb, he’d started to think of the new leg as his own. His leg, his knee, his foot. He didn’t quite feel whole again, but he was getting there – and _that_ was an amazing thing to realize.

Rather than let himself be caught off-guard again, Kallus jumped to his feet. “Tell me more about being a Guardsman,” he said. “Tell me more about Lasan.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” Zeb said, advancing on him. “You just have to ask it.”

“I do have one particular question,” Kallus said.

Zeb nodded. “Go for it.”

“This training you’ve put me through – this is the same training you gave to new recruits when you were Honor Guard Captain, isn’t it?”

Grinning toothily, Zeb said, “I wondered when you’d figure that out.”

“I’m not a raw recruit,” protested Kallus, deftly blocking Zeb’s overhand attack.

“Not in the traditional sense,” Zeb agreed. “But you needed your _boosahn ko’oran_ and the path there starts at the beginning.”

“The what?” Kallus frowned. “You’re really going to have to start teaching me Lasana if you’re going to keep using it.”

Zeb laughed. “We’ll see if we can work some lessons in. Start with _boosahn ko’oran_ ; Warrior’s Spirit.”

“ _Boosahn ko’oran_?” Despite his Coruscanti accent, Kallus spoke the Lasana words as easily as if they were his mother tongue. His voice made the words sound almost sultry. Zeb would definitely have to teach him the language. “Any relation to the _boosahn keeraw_?”

“Yes. Both are Honor Guard traditions,” Zeb explained, surprised Kallus remembered the term from back on Bahryn. Then again, he was learning he shouldn’t be surprised by anything Kallus achieved. The man was almost through with the training Zeb could give him and it’d only been a Standard month. Most recruits took closer to a year to truly master everything; most veterans at least two months.

“So what is the _ko’oran_?”

“Warrior’s Spirit, like I said.” Zeb was forced two steps backwards by Kallus’s underhanded swing. “When a guardsman is wounded in battle, the _boosahn ko’oran_ is how they’re brought back into the fold. It’s meant to help them find their wholeness again, whether it’s physical or mental.”

Kallus hesitated a moment. “So you’ve been trying to force me to heal. Physically? Or physically and mentally?”

“Both,” Zeb admitted. “You lost your confidence and forgot that you’re the Warrior.”

“’The’ Warrior?” Kallus repeated. “Don’t you mean ‘a’ warrior?”

Zeb thought quickly. He trusted Kallus with most everything, but he needed to keep Lira San a secret for now. Kallus would never willingly tell, Zeb believed, but it was possible he could be tortured and offer up information about the hidden planet.

No, safer to ignore Lira San’s existence. After the war, or before they died – whichever came first – Zeb would tell him that the lasat still lived and that they were the Child and Warrior of prophecy that led him home to his people.

“You’re right,” Zeb said. “I meant ‘a’ warrior. Quit correctin’ my grammar when I’m trying to whup your ass.”

Kallus smiled, a rare occurrence that had been happening more and more often during their time together. “Make me stop.” He dodged an attack by Zeb. “So, you started teaching me from the beginning. What was I supposed to learn?”

“You learned it,” Zeb said. “That even when you think you’re weak, there’s strength. That healing follows injury, but only if you let it. And you needed to remember the steady hand it takes to correctly wield a bo-rifle.”

Appearing to think about what Zeb had said, Kallus pursed his lips in concentration and let loose with a furious barrage of attacks and jabs and sideswipes. Zeb tried to keep up, but found he couldn’t.

Next thing he knew, Zeb was on his knees in front of Kallus, just like their first battle. It was the first time since he lost his leg that Kallus had won a fight of any sort. He stood there, breathing heavily, looking at Zeb with stunned eyes.

Zeb smiled. “See? You’ve found it. You’ve found your _boosahn ko’oran_ and you’ve found yourself again.”

Kallus turned off the electricity of his bo-rifle and stuck the bayonet end into the ground, holding out a hand to help Zeb to his feet. “I think I’m done for the day,” he said.

Zeb agreed. “Usually, when a guardsman had your breakthrough, we celebrated. What do you say we go for a swim instead?” He motioned off to the left, where a quarter of a kilometer away, the river lazily wound by, a wide and calm section perfect for swimming.

“As long as it isn’t in lieu of showering,” Kallus joked. “Wet lasats sure need one.”

Grinning, Zeb folded up his bo-rifle and unzipped his jumpsuit halfway, peeling it off his shoulders and rolling it down to his hips. “Buddy, you’re one to talk,” he said, even though the smell of sweaty human didn’t bother him – it was actually preferable to the soapy smell of a freshly-washed human. “Look at yourself.”

Kallus looked down at his shirt, mostly soaked in sweat. He pulled it off, mimicking Zeb’s actions. 

Zeb had seen Kallus almost completely undressed before, after he lost his leg, but he hadn’t really paid attention and Kallus certainly hadn’t looked quite like this: his skin glistening in the planetlight, wet blonde chest hair standing out a little more than it had back then. He stood tall again, with a touch of pride. If his hair were combed back, Zeb could believe he was an ISB agent again, regal and confident.

But what Kallus was now was so much better. He was a Rebel, a comrade, a survivor, and – if Zeb dared to say it – his best friend, even more so than Kanan. Zeb didn’t want to imagine facing this war without Kallus by his side. They’d learned too much about each other, learned how to trust and rely on each other.

If this was the relationship the soul bond had been driving at all this time, then Zeb was satisfied. He’d take his soulmate, just as he was in the present moment, and never let go.

The river was cool and refreshing and Kallus felt a little cleaner by the time they climbed up the riverbank, laughing at one of Zeb’s asinine jokes. Not wanting to walk back to base in his sopping wet underwear, Kallus stripped those off and pulled his dry – if dirty – pants back on. 

Zeb just rolled his jumpsuit back up and wore it wet. He grabbed both bo-rifles while Kallus carried the rest of his clothes: shirt, underwear, socks, and boots.

Together, they walked back to base. He’d been told his cybernetic was waterproof and would only really need to come off in case of a bacta dip, but this was the first time Kallus had tested it. He was pleased to find he had no issues walking down the trail.

A familiar whine filled the air as they neared the tarmac. Zeb beamed, looking up to watch the ship land. “The _Gauntlet_!” he said. “C’mon!”

Zeb took off running and Kallus followed, completely ruining the sort-of bath he’d had in the river. They arrived in time to see the _Gauntlet_ ’s ramp open and the Mandalore mission crew step out.

Arms out, Zeb walked up to them, grabbing Wren in a hug. The girl protested the whole time – “Ew, Zeb, you’re wet and you stink!” – but she smiled. Zeb gave damp, smelly hugs to Jarrus and Bridger both and even shook one of Chopper’s manipulators in a friendly manner.

It was obvious they were all glad to see one another, even if they were less than thrilled with their hugs. Kallus hung back, smiling at the scene, wanting to give them their space.

That didn’t last long. Zeb motioned for him to join them. “Look who’s walking again! Kal even beat me in sparring today!” Zeb boasted, beaming with pride.

Kallus felt himself blush, one of those annoying full-body ones that turned his chest pink as well as his face, but he came and stood next to Zeb.

“Jarrus,” he said in greeting. “Wren. Bridger. I’m glad you all made it back.”

Bridger groaned. “Kallus, you can use our first names now, you know. Just ‘cause _you_ like going by your last name doesn’t mean we do.”

“Would you prefer Jabba?” Kallus quipped, making Bridg– _Ezra_ smile.

“Anything’s better than ‘Bridger’,” he replied.

“Fine, then, Ezra. It’s good to see you all again. And from an upright position.”

Kanan stepped forward and placed a hand on Kallus’s bare shoulder. “It’s good to see you doing so much better.”

Kallus felt his heart twist. “Kanan, I owe you and Hera thanks for taking me in. All of you. If you hadn’t taken care of me – if you hadn’t let Zeb take care of me – I wouldn’t be here.”

“You’re the one who risked everything,” Kanan said. “We should be thanking you.”

The flush deepened and Kallus was almost embarrassed by his lack of dress.

“Kanan! Ezra! Sabine! Chopper!” cried Hera, running between Zeb and Kallus to hug them all in turn. “Oh, it’s so good to see you! I’m so glad you’re back!”

Kallus stepped back as another round of greetings happened. He thought he might sneak off to shower and clothe himself properly, but Hera stopped him before he’d finished turning around.

“Wait, Kallus. Draven’s called an immediate meeting. He sent me to find you. We’re needed now.”

Eyes wide, Kallus gestured to himself. “I need to clean up first.”

Hera shook her head. “Too late. Just… pull your boots on or something. It’s early enough you can pretend you’re in pajamas. It’s not like the Council’s never seen a human male chest before.”

Ezra and Sabine both laughed and Kallus managed not to glare at them. When _Zeb_ joined in, he did glare.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

Hera gestured for the whole group to follow and they made their way through the base to the Council’s chambers, Kallus lagging behind just long enough to tie his bootlaces.

Mon Mothma raised an eyebrow when she saw Kallus, and Draven’s mouth quirked in what might have been a smile, but none of the others reacted, not even Cade, who walked in behind the Spectres.

_Guess a shirtless Intelligence officer holding his underwear isn’t the oddest thing to be seen on a Rebel base._

Cade stepped up to the table and looked at Draven. “I take it my mission’s been approved?”

Draven nodded.

“Yes,” answered Dodonna. “General Draven has approved the list of prisoners to be freed and we’ve set a mission start time for early tomorrow morning.”

_Lyste. Is Lyste approved? I’ll have to bring him up to Draven if he’s not. I owe that boy._

“Now that the rest of my crew is here, we’ll be taking Cade’s commandos on the _Ghost_ instead of using a U-wing,” said Hera. “And Captain Kallus? You seem to be feeling better, so we’d like to have you on this one as well. Can you get cleared by Medical today?”

Glancing at Zeb, Kallus nodded. “I’m confident I’ll have no issues being cleared for field duty, sir.”

Hera gave him a look at the ‘sir’, but he wasn’t going to apologize. This was an official meeting and old Imperial habits stuck. At least using an honorific was one of the respectable ones.

“Good,” said Draven. “Go clean up and get that taken care of. We’ll go over the details with Commander Lissiri and General Syndulla after lunch.”

Zeb wrapped an arm around Kallus before he could be properly dismissed, guiding him straight to the sonic showers. “I’ll go with you to the med bay,” he offered.

“No,” Kallus said. “Your family just got back. You should go be with them.”

“Sounds like I’m gonna be with them the next few days. I’d rather see you officially get signed off for this mission.”

“You just want me to _go_ on this mission,” Kallus said, letting a little bit of tease into his voice.

“Well, yeah. And I want to help you get that Imperial kid out.”

Kallus nodded. Of course Zeb remembered him talking about Lyste. It was easy to underestimate Zeb, but he was sharp as well as strong. “Yeah. Yogar Lyste. I hope he’s still okay.”

Zeb gave his shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll get him out of there. And then you can apologize like you’ve been wantin’ to. Now, get cleaned up and I’ll meet you in the med bay.”

“As ordered, Captain Orrelios,” Kallus said, shooting him a smile.

Zeb’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments. “See you soon, Kal,” he said, giving Kallus a pat on the back.

Kallus stood there and watched him go – heading back to the _Ghost_ ’s sonics and his bunk, no doubt – feeling the Yavin 4 air cool him off quickly where Zeb’s damp fur had touched him.

For just a second or two, Kallus placed a hand on his shoulder, where Zeb’s hand had been.

 _How’d I get so lucky to end up with Garazeb Orrelios as my best friend?_ he wondered. _Just imagine what I’d have been if we’d never crashed onto Bahryn. I shudder to think._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta, whiplashcrash, is a BEAST and got this done even while she was having a bad night. She is amazing and this story wouldn't be the same without her.
> 
> In the same vein, Whip also was the originator of the Warrior Spirit idea; I kinda grabbed it and ran. I have an amazing beta and brainstorm companion, y’all!
> 
> Thank you again to anath_tsurugi for letting me use her Lasana and being patient with me every time I bug her!


	9. Chapter 9

For the first time in over a month, Zeb didn’t meet Kallus in the woods to spar before properly starting their days. Instead, they first saw each other in the mess, getting one last extra cup of caf.

“You ready for this?” he asked Kallus, handing him the sweetener.

“I believe so.”

That wasn’t exactly a whole-hearted yes. Zeb watched Kallus fix his caf, concerned. There were any number of reasons he could be nervous about this mission. It was his first as a Rebel. His first since he got the new leg. His first as a member of the _Ghost_ crew. And then there was the kid.

 _It’s probably the kid that’s eatin’ at him,_ Zeb told himself. _You know how much he regrets framing him._

“You’re staring,” said Kallus, a slight touch of irritation in his voice. “I’m really quite all right, Zeb.”

“‘M not staring,” Zeb said reflexively. “Just noticing you’re not exactly acting normal this morning.”

“How do you know what my pre-mission ‘normal’ is?” Kallus asked, peering over his cup. “I happen to prefer to focus on what we’re about to do, not chatting.”

Though Kallus attempted to sound serious, Zeb chuckled. “Sure. You’ve got the entire hyperspace trip to Kessel to focus or meditate or stand on your head or whatever it is you like to do. Right now, you’re still on base. Relax a little.”

“Is this what _you_ like to do before missions? Bug your partners?”

“Sometimes,” Zeb said, grinning. “Extra caf is always good. Waffles if I can get ‘em.”

Kallus arched his eyebrows. “Food? You just worry about your stomach?”

“Kal, my stomach is very important,” said Zeb cheerily, but he sobered shortly after. He joked, but he really did have a serious pre-mission routine. He caught Kallus’s eyes. “You wanna know what I really do?”

Kallus seemed surprised at Zeb’s change in attitude. “Of course,” he said.

“I told you about the Ashla, Bendu, and Bogan, right?” Zeb confirmed.

Nodding, Kallus took a sip of his caf, keeping his eyes on Zeb’s.

“Well, it’s an old Guard tradition,” he said.

“You have a lot of those,” Kallus noted, an encouraging smile on his face.

“Yeah, I do.” Zeb scratched behind an ear, deciding how best to explain. “Um, I know most people who aren’t Jedi aren’t very spiritual, but the idea of the protective Ashla was important on Lasan, y’know? The Guardsmen, we used to all meet in the mornings - before battle or even just a normal day - and pray. For protection and health, yeah, but also for guidance and wisdom. And I may not be an _Arkesana_ or anythin', but I still do that from time to time, mostly before we go on missions. Ask that we all come home, stuff like that."

His fur rippled under his suit, a little embarrassed. Zeb hadn’t even discussed that tradition with Kanan, who saw the Ashla as another name for the Force and would probably understand. The whole thing felt a little too private to him.

But it also felt right to share it with his soulmate.

Kallus didn’t respond. His eyes darted away from Zeb’s, staring into the distance, but that was it. 

_I said too much,_ Zeb thought. _He thinks it’s weird. He was raised Imperial; they don’t have anything like the Ashla. He was taught to distrust religions. It’s asking too much of him to respect something he was actively taught to hate._

 _But he respects_ me _and he used to hate me._

“Zeb?” asked Kallus quietly, breaking up Zeb’s worrisome thoughts. “I – if you’d let me, that is – I’d like to join you.”

Zeb’s eyes widened. “Kal, I didn’t tell you to guilt trip you into anything.” He looked at the floor. “Karabast, I shouldn’t have said anything. We were jokin’ and I go and ruin it.”

“No.” Kallus reached out just enough to touch Zeb’s arm, his fingers lightly brushing fur. “I mean it. It’s, uh. It’s not like belief in the Empire did me any good. I believe in the Rebellion now, but I’m never going to believe in _just_ a cause again. Maybe the Ashla is out there for me, too.”

Zeb was, frankly, stunned. He hadn’t expected Kallus to want to join him. He’d hoped for–

Well, he wasn’t sure what he’d hoped for, telling Kallus about _that_ , but his very secular soulmate requesting to join in a tradition that Zeb held so close to his heart wasn’t it.

He wasn’t going to say no, however. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

Kallus quickly downed the last of his caf and tossed the cup in the refuse bin. “Where do you go? Your cabin?”

“Nah, Ezra’s usually there,” Zeb said, fiddling with his own cup. Did he want to try and finish it or just show Kallus the way immediately? “Here, I’ve been goin’ off into the jungle a bit, out behind the _Ghost._ Just far enough not to be seen.”

“Now?” asked Kallus.

Zeb had the strange urge to grab Kallus’s hand and lead him off to his private spot that way, but that wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead, Zeb tossed his half-full cup and motioned for Kallus to follow him.

Hera was fueling up the _Ghost_ when they walked past, but no one else was in sight. She nodded at them and Zeb gave her a casual salute instead of saying anything. He pushed through the tall grasses that had sprung up around the cleared land of the base, stepping aside so Kallus could follow without being hit in the face by plants.

A few more meters in, he stopped underneath a large tree and crouched down in a resting position, one hand on his leg, the other brushing the ground. Kallus couldn’t comfortably copy his stance for any length of time, so the human sat cross-legged next to Zeb, hands on his knees. _I’ve seen Kanan and Ezra meditate like that. Must be an instinctual human thing._

“Okay, uh,” he said awkwardly. “Usually I do this silently, but I just pick something in the jungle to focus on.”

“Like a plant or a bird or something?”

“Exactly. The Ashla is the spirit behind all life in the universe, so by talking to something alive, you’re talking to it.” Zeb looked over at Kallus, who was watching him closely. “And I just think what I wanna say. Sometimes I know exactly what to ask for, sometimes I let my mind wander. It’s not really meditation, just… like a conversation with the Ashla.”

Zeb could swear there was a sparkle in Kallus’s eye. “And do you get a response?”

Zeb grinned softly, looking away. “Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes you get what you ask for. Sometimes you get a lot more.” 

_Like a friendship you never expected._

Strangely, the short, silent moment in the jungle he’d shared with Zeb seemed to relax Kallus. He hadn’t expected it, particularly with the stumbling prayer he’d focused on – _Ashla, keep me from kriffing this up, too_ – but there’d been something about sitting there, watching Zeb do his thing, that was calming. 

He stood in the hold now, bo-rifle strapped to his back and blasters to his thighs, ready to jump from the _Ghost_ as soon as Hera lowered the ramp and got them close to the mine entrance. With him stood Zeb, Kanan, Ezra, Sabine, Cade, and a squad of twelve commandos whose names he didn’t know.

Thirteen commandos, two Jedi, one Mandalorian, and two beings with bo-rifles.

Kallus hoped they were enough to break through the guards and get everyone safely back out.

“Okay, we’re out of the Run and coming up on Kessel,” said Hera over the intercom. “Cade, get your people ready.”

Cade, the mission leader, stepped in front of the group and went over the plan one more time. Despite having heard it many times before, Kallus focused on her words.

“The Jedi will go first, drawing fire so my commandos can make it to the doors. Sabine, if there’s anything pretty to blow up, go for it. Zeb and Kallus, cover Sabine as needed. Once we’re in, the prisoners will be in two places: the ones working the mines today, and the ones in their cells. Kanan, Sabine, and Zeb, you’ll take my team Aurek and head to the mines. Ezra, Kallus, team Besh, and myself will head to the cells. We have thirty minutes to gather as many people from our list as possible. Everyone got a copy of the list on their wrist devices?”

Kallus glanced down at his left arm. A bracer much like a Mandalorian’s, but with a tiny datapad screen, squeezed his arm almost tight enough to be uncomfortable. There was no way he was going to risk losing it, though, so he dismissed the pain. He nodded at Cade.

“Good. Speed is the key, but you guys know that. If we stick to the plan, we’ll be in and out before they can rustle up some soldiers from the southern hemisphere to stop us leaving.”

Just as he’d done multiple times already during the trip, Kallus scrolled down the list of names on his bracer. _Lyste, Yogar_ was still there. He was going to get to free the young man, assuming he was still alive.

Kallus didn’t expect forgiveness from Lyste; he’d betrayed him too deeply for that. But this was the only way Kallus could think of beginning to atone for his treachery. 

“Opening hold in ten,” Hera said, voice echoing in the metal room. “And jump in fifteen.”

“Goggles on,” instructed Cade.

On cue, Kallus pulled down his eye protection and followed the group out of the hold, dropping about a meter and a half. Even that distance caused a painful jolt at the attachment point of his cybernetic leg, but he ignored it and pressed on, following the big purple shape of Zeb Orrelios in the dusty air of Kessel. He’d been on the prison planet before, as an Imperial – once even opposing the Spectres – and counted on that familiarity to help get the group in and out safely.

Sabine ran towards a row of speeders. She tossed some detonators to Zeb and the two of them placed the explosives while Kallus kept an eye out for any Kessel guards who would try and stop them. He wondered if she’d purposefully not given him an explosive, out of some misguided sympathy for his leg – or if she didn’t trust him to use them correctly.

The air was filled with a brownish dust, so thick Kallus could barely see the laser blasts being deflected by Kanan and Ezra’s lightsabers. Shouts filled the air.

Zeb had made the right choice, back on Nar Shaddaa. Kallus needed to be involved. He wasn’t cut out to spend his life at a desk, not when he could be out here instead, adrenaline rushing over him and blaster bolts flashing by. Not when he could be wielding his bo-rifle.

Especially not when he could be wielding his bo-rifle with Zeb at his side.

“Havin’ fun yet?” Zeb asked, loud enough to be heard over the fight. Kallus risked a look over to see Zeb grinning widely, flashing his fangs, Sabine on the other side of him.

“Possibly even more fun than you!”

Sabine motioned for them to hide behind a storage container and Kallus dashed around the corner just in time for the speeders to explode, one after the other. Sabine _whooped_ in delight.

“It looks like Sabine is enjoying herself more than either of us,” Kallus said, just for Zeb to hear.

The lasat laughed and dared a look over the top of the container. He bent back down. “Cade’s got the door open. Come on!”

Crouching low, Kallus followed Zeb through the fray and into the mines. Dead Imperial guards littered the ground in front of the door and two of Cade’s commandos checked them first before letting anyone through.

Cade nodded when she saw them. “You know what to do,” she said, setting off down a hallway without waiting for Kallus to confirm. He followed her at an energetic clip, one last glance over his shoulder to watch Zeb head off the opposite direction.

The cell block wasn’t as far away as Kallus would have guessed; just three floors down and a quarter kilometer back into the mine. Ezra and Cade led the way down the hallway, checking names on doors against her list. Each time there was a match, a commando opened the door and trapped the prisoner inside while Cade made her pitch.

Most of the prisoners took the Rebellion’s offer. Most, also, noticed Kallus and reacted either with surprise or scorn. 

“Didn’t think you’d be seeing me again, did you, Imp?” scoffed one zygerrian.

Kallus ignored the taunt and continued down the hall while the zygerrian joined the other freed prisoners behind the commandos.

“Kallus! Got your guy!”

Ezra’s voice cut through Kallus’s awareness like a vibroblade. He approached the door carefully.

Cade motioned for him to hurry and handed him one of the small explosives they were using to blow the locking mechanisms.

Kallus looked at it briefly before placing it. He tripped the detonator timer and took a considerable step back.

A small boom caused the door to slide open and there stood Lyste, scrawny and gaunt, in a baggy jumpsuit, close enough to the doorway that it was obvious he’d been trying to listen to what was going on outside.

He looked up and saw Kallus.

Lyste’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments before he glared at Kallus, fury taking over his face. He rushed forward, making a credible effort to choke Kallus. “ _You_!” he screamed.

Kallus fell to one knee, trying to grab Lyste’s hands and pull them from his neck. “Lyste,” he hissed, only able to get out so much air. “Lyste, stop, I’m here to get you out.”

“You’re the reason I’m here!” Lyste raged. “You let me take the fall! You made me trust you! Do you know how long I’ve been here? Because I’ve counted every single _kriffing_ day!”

“I’m sorry…”

“Yes, you are!”

“Hey!” Cade spoke loudly enough to startle both Kallus and Lyste. “You stop that or I’ll put you back mys–”

Both Cade and Lyste froze as their eyes met. Lyste dropped his hands from Kallus’s neck. “It’s you,” he said softly, a complete turnaround from a moment before.

“ _Now_?” Cade asked, eyes rolling to the ceiling as if it had personally offended her. “Really?”

“But I dreamt–”

“I know. So did I. We don’t have time to discuss it.” She reached out and grabbed Lyste’s hand, jerking him away from Kallus. “We’ve still got work to do, Blue Eyes. Either help us or go back in your cell.”

Lyste seemed baffled. “But you’re my–”

“Yes, we’ve established that. But I have a limited amount of time here and I won’t let you trip me up.” Cade pulled him along beside her, heading down to the next cells, Lyste protesting softly.

“Uh, what just happened?” Ezra asked, helping Kallus back to his feet.

Kallus rubbed at his throat, stepping back against the wall to let a couple of commandos pass. “I think...” he said, voice a little raw. “I think we just saw a soulmate meeting.”

“What?” Ezra stared at Cade, who was still dragging Lyste along, looking for all the galaxy as if she had no intention of letting him go. “Here? _That’s_ a weird meeting.”

Kallus _hmph_ ed, a short laugh. “I can’t say it’s any stranger than my own.”

“Oh yeah.” Ezra shrugged. “Watching you and Zeb now, sometimes it’s easy to forget you tried to kill us all.”

Kallus tried not to sound too sarcastic. “Thank you for reminding me, Bridger.”

“Kinda tried to kill us a lot,” Ezra pointed out further as they followed Cade down the hallway.

“Yes, I remember.” Kallus clenched his fists, also remembering that trying to kill the boy _now_ would likely end just as poorly as all his other attempts.

“I mean, a _lot_.”

“Hey, little Jedi! Captain! We’re through on this hall!” Cade motioned for everyone to turn around. Letting go of Lyste’s hand, she pushed him past Kallus and into the group of other prisoners.

“I’m not little!” protested Ezra. “What now?”

Cade pointed at three of her commandos. “Four, Five, Six, take these guys back to the _Ghost_. The rest of us will hit the second hallway.”

“Wait!” said Lyste. “No one’s there. They’re day shift and in the mines right now.”

She stared at him. “You sure? Because if I miss people I should have grabbed…”

He nodded, scraggly black hair falling in his face. “Our hall is the whole night shift. You caught us all sleeping. They’re all on day shift.”

Biting her lip, Cade returned the nod. “You heard the kid. Let’s move out. Someone contact team Aurek and let them know we’re through. Ask if they need backup.”

They made their way back to the ship, stepping over stunned guards – and some who were a little more than stunned. Kallus watched the back of Lyste’s head carefully, still wanting the young man to make it out safely despite his earlier attack. Lyste didn’t belong in this group of degenerates; he was a fundamentally good, if overenthusiastic, person who hadn’t yet seen the dark side of the Empire when he’d been sent to the mines.

Every now and again, Lyste looked over his shoulder. The times he caught Kallus’s eye, he nearly stumbled, glaring fiercely. The other times, he spotted Cade and his expression seemed awed. Once, Kallus even saw him trip over a dead guard’s foot because he was too busy staring at the commando leader.

Kallus understood both sentiments perfectly.

Zeb tried not to wince as he followed Kanan, running back to the _Ghost_ , where the other team, Kallus’s team, awaited them.

Hopefully team Besh had better luck than team Aurek had had down in the mines. Two commandos had been stabbed with vibropikes, Sabine’s armor had a few new scratches, and Zeb had gotten a glancing blaster bolt across his ribs. It wasn’t deep, but it hurt like the Bogan and would be prone to a nasty infection. His suit rubbed the edges of the burn painfully as they ran.

To his relief, Kallus was one of the ones standing guard at the bottom of the ramp, looking no worse for the wear. Zeb stopped next to him, bo-rifle ready, watching as the prisoners they’d freed ran onto the ship. “You okay?” he asked, just to be sure.

Kallus gave him a half smile. “Physically, yes.”

Zeb frowned. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Kallus said, shaking his head. “The kid wasn’t too happy to see me and I can’t blame him. What happened to you?”

Zeb looked down guiltily. “I didn’t get out of the way fast enough,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

“Like hells it’s nothing,” Kallus said, grabbing Zeb by the elbow and pulling him onto the ship as the last of the commandos loaded. “I’m going to take care of that for you now. Force knows you’ve bandaged me up enough.”

The hold was packed with commandos and prisoners; Zeb hadn’t seen the _Ghost_ this full since the Atollon evacuation. From a spot half-hanging off the ladder, Kanan was trying to organize things.

“We’ve got water and ration bars to tide you over,” the Jedi was saying. “I know it won’t be enough, but there will be more once we’re back to base. From there, you’ll get your assignments and be shipped off to Coruscant or wherever the Council decides you’re needed.”

When Zeb and Kallus reached the ladder, Kanan climbed the rest of the way up, allowing them access to the _Ghost_ ’s main floor. Kallus placed his hands in the middle of Zeb’s back and guided him to the small med center just between the common room and the refresher.

Zeb noticed Cade at the dejarik table in the common room, staring across it at a black-haired young man. The kid was staring at Kallus with a murderous glint in his eyes. “That your friend?” Zeb whispered.

Kallus glanced in the room, then went back to digging out the medpacks. “Lieutenant Lyste. Turns out he and Cade are soulmates,” he whispered back.

Zeb did a double-take. “Really?”

“Really.” Kallus forced him to turn so he could see Zeb’s burn. “Do you want to roll down your suit or do you want me to cut it off?”

Grumbling, Zeb carefully rolled the suit down. He’d have to sew it back up, but that was better than losing a whole suit. He only had so many, after all, and it wasn’t like there were lasat clothing stores that delivered to Yavin 4. He raised his arm to give Kallus better access.

As Kallus carefully applied bacta, the gel sticky in his fur, Zeb’s ears twitched as he listened in on Cade and the new kid.

“So your first name is really _Yogar_?”

A second of silence, then an offended voice. “Is something wrong with that? It’s a family name.”

Cade laughed. “No, just not what I expected from you, Blue Eyes. I heard what you yelled, but what’s your deal with Captain Kallus? How come he’s the reason you were there?”

Another silence. “You’re not Imperial, not on this ship,” Lyste said. “So you’re Rebels. Which means he’s a Rebel now. He was the spy all along.”

“Yeah, Fulcrum,” Cade confirmed. “He did a lot for us and lost a lot getting away.”

“Agent Kallus threw me away.” Bitterness filled the kid’s voice. “And then the Empire forgot about me.”

“The Empire’s like that,” Cade said. “It’s why you should join us. I’m another reason.”

“What?”

“Blue Eyes, come on. We’re soulmates. You know you want to stick with me and I’m not leaving the Rebellion. Stay with us and fight. The Empire forgot about you; make them remember what they did to you and regret it.”

“Maybe,” Lyste said. “But only if I don’t have to work with him.”

Zeb didn’t have to be a genius to figure out who ‘him’ was.

“I bet we can figure it out. There are other cells that can use my guys.”

More quiet. “That’s Garazeb Orrelios out there with Agent Kallus, right? One of the crew of this ship?”

Zeb’s fur bristled at the mention of his name. He wondered if Kallus was listening as well and what he thought about the whole thing, or if they were out of range of human hearing.

“Yup. He’s Captain Kallus’s soulmate.”

“Agent Kallus and… and an alien?” The kid sounded shocked.

Cade’s answer was simple and straightforward. “He’s not an agent anymore, so stop calling him that, and Zeb’s a lasat. They’re just friends, for now at least. There’s a pretty large betting pool back on base on when they’ll get together.”

Zeb’s fur twitched. He hoped Kallus wasn’t listening. He didn’t dare look at Kallus’s face, so Zeb just stared at the ceiling while his chest was wrapped with bandages to hold the bacta pads in place.

“Did you bet?”

“Of course! I’m golden if they get together in the next Standard month.”

Kallus coughed as if something were in his throat and Zeb knew he’d heard, too. 

Zeb swallowed, still very carefully studying the bolts in the ceiling. He knew…

 _What do I know?_ he thought. _I know that I sometimes dream about Kal and they aren’t soulmate dreams. I know that if he made a move, I’d respond. But I also know that saying anything would ruin what we have. I worked too hard to put him back together; I’m not going to screw that up. Besides, he’s only ever mentioned being in a relationship with a human. He’s still got those Imperial instincts. He’d never go for a lasat, not like that._

 _Stick with being friends, Zeb. Don’t mess this up, even if it means letting down all those nosy Yavin 4 gamblers,_ he told himself, trying to offset his internal embarrassment with a joke.

Kallus cleared his throat and Zeb realized he was through treating the blaster burn. Slowly, he lowered his arm and looked at the human.

“You’re good,” said Kallus quietly, not meeting his eyes. “I think you may even get away without too much scarring.”

“Good,” said Zeb, attempting to sound normal. “Wouldn’t want to mess up my fur. It’s too pretty.”

Kallus’s cheeks flushed pink and Zeb regretted the joke.

“Look,” Zeb said. “I’m gonna go check on Hera, make sure she and Kanan are flyin’ the ship and not each other. You keep an eye on those guys in the hold and make sure no fights break out?”

“Zeb, you _do_ realize two-thirds of them hate me? I should be the one hiding in the cockpit.”

“Nah, it’s my turn to be the hurt one taking it easy, ain’t it?” Zeb forced a smile, as if he wasn’t dying of mortification. “Just be your normal intimidating self and they’ll behave.”

Kallus actually laughed, smiling, and it was a relief for Zeb to see. “Of course. Because I’m more intimidating than the two meter tall lasat.”

“I’m not the one who caught them the first time around. They’ve been working slave labor for months or years knowing you’re better than them. You’ve got the upper hand.”

“Fine.” Kallus took a step back. “Go check on Hera and Kanan. If you interrupt anything, I told you so.”

“Fair enough.” Repressing his inappropriate thoughts about bending Kallus over the controls of the ship, Zeb gave him a cocky salute instead. “See ya at Yavin, buddy.”

Kallus sat outside Draven’s office, real leg bouncing nervously. He’d had an official debrief – a young, far-too-serious Intelligence officer named Andor had peppered him with questions about every step of the mission – but Draven had sent for him. So, wondering what he’d done wrong, Kallus waited to be called back.

While he sat, he leaned his head back against the wall and thought. Thought about soft purple fur moving beneath his hands, about the grunts and groans Zeb had made while being bandaged and cared for. He wondered if Zeb made those same noises under other circumstances.

 _Stop right there, Alexsandr_ , said his brain. _He’s your best friend and what you want isn’t appropriate. He’s probably not interested in men or in humans, so why bother? Isn’t it better to keep being best friends without throwing lust into the mix?_

The door opened and both Cade and Lyste stepped out of the office, looking mostly pleased. Following them out, Draven appeared decidedly less so. He gestured for Kallus to join him.

“Captain Kallus,” he said, as they found their seats. “Congratulations are in order on a close-to-perfect mission.”

“Congratulations?” Kallus asked. “We had some serious injuries.”

“It was all within acceptable parameters,” Draven said, glancing through datapads scattered across his desk. Kallus supposed there was some kind of order to them that he couldn’t see. “The only failure is that Commander Lissiri wants to withdraw from Massassi Group.”

“I figured that was coming, sir,” Kallus said, frowning. “Where will she go?”

Draven drummed the desk with his fingers. “I’m sending her commandos to the Outer Rim with General Cracken. They can cause some trouble out there. We’ll miss their support, however.”

“We will,” Kallus agreed.

“That soulmate of hers is not your biggest fan.”

Kallus looked up again, catching Draven’s eyes. He didn’t see condemnation in them as he’d expected. “I believe that’s an understatement, sir.”

Draven chuckled once, shortly. “You know, Captain, it’s the kind and principled and hologenic people that are the face of this Rebellion. Thanks to them, we have publicity. We have new recruits. We have credibility.”

“That’s all true, sir.” Kallus had no idea where Draven was taking the conversation.

“But it’s beings like you and me, out there in the dark with vibroblades, covered in blood, that keep the Rebellion running.” Draven leaned back. “Sometimes, the best thing for the Rebellion isn’t a nice, tidy theft or prison break or even a space battle. Sometimes, it’s a fight in a dark alley or an assassination or the framing of a subordinate so that you can continue to transmit Imperial data.”

Kallus blinked slowly. “I think I get what you’re saying, sir.”

Draven clapped his palm on the desk, fingers splayed. “I mean that you did what you had to do with Lyste. You chose the Rebellion when you should have and I’m not going to let people condemn you for that. If people knew the types of decisions I – and the other Fulcrum agents – have had to make, they’d be disgusted. We don’t meet the ideals of people like Mon Mothma, but we’re just as important, perhaps more so.”

Unfortunately, Kallus understood perfectly. He might wish that he was on that hologenic side of the Rebellion, but the truth was he worked better down in the muck. He always had; that’s why he refused promotions in the ISB so that he could stay in the field. “Sir.”

“You’re a good man, Captain,” Draven said. “I didn’t believe it at first, but you’ve done good work and I’ve had no more reason to think you might betray us. Anyone gives you grief about Commander Lissiri leaving, you ignore them, okay? It was her choice, not yours.”

“Yes, sir.” Kallus was surprised. Draven certainly hadn’t been as cold to him over the past month as he’d been at the start, but he never thought he’d be out from under suspicion.

Well, knowing Draven, he wasn’t. It was joked that Draven kept files on every member of the Rebellion, up to and including Bail Organa.

Kallus wasn’t so sure it was a joke.

“Dismissed, Captain. Get some sleep.”

Kallus stood and saluted. He left Draven’s office and continued on until he’d left the temple.

There, on the tarmac, the _Ghost_ stood open, the lights inside inviting in the dark Yavin night. From within, Kallus could hear Chopper warbling at Ezra and Zeb, who were yelling good-naturedly about something – some sort of game, it seemed. Kallus could easily picture Sabine adding a new bit of artwork to her walls, Hera and Kanan watching everyone like indulgent parents.

They were a family. He was almost part of it. He wanted to be part of it.

But the _Ghost_ belonged on the hologenic side of the Rebellion. Everyone in there was a come-from-behind success story.

Kallus wasn’t. He had too many skeletons in his closet. He belonged in the muck.

Ashla help him, he wanted to crawl out of that muck and never let go of Zeb. Never look back at the bad he’d done. Never be reminded of the monster he was. 

He wanted to be wanted by Zeb and his family, as more than just Zeb’s friend.

Kallus sighed, stopping before he got close enough for the ship’s lights to hit him, and stood there for the better part of an hour, watching and wishing.

Someday, maybe, he’d be a hologenic Rebel, too, and belong with them.


	10. Chapter 10

Kallus couldn’t believe the company he was in. Rebels, clones, Black Sun bounty hunters, pirates, smugglers, ex-convicts… Part of him wanted to shudder and dissociate himself from such beings.

The other part realized this motley group – including himself – was the best hope of saving Lothal.

_Funny how things turn out. I return to Lothal in the company of those I once hunted to drive off those I swore utmost loyalty to. And instead of viewing this as treachery, I see it as the most honorable move I could make._

“Kal!” Zeb’s voice carried across the rock formation, sending a flush up the back of Kallus’s neck.

“Zeb!” he replied, genuinely smiling as the lasat crossed the few meters between them. He’d seen Zeb during the short battle, of course, and even fought next to him, but they hadn’t had the chance to talk. It’d only been two weeks since they saw each other, but that was two weeks too long, in Kallus’s book. He hadn’t realized just how _addicted_ he’d gotten to being around Zeb every day.

Without warning, Zeb wrapped huge arms around Kallus, lifting him off the ground in a tight hug. Kallus struggled for a second, but he knew he wouldn’t get loose unless Zeb wanted him to.

Hugs were still a new part of Kallus’s life. Sure, he’d been a full-blown Rebel for nearly two months, but the occasional side hug from Zeb – as good as they were – did not make up for years of little-to-no physical contact. He’d learned Zeb was very tactile, however, and put up with hands on his shoulder, back pats, joking punches, and various other touches without complaint – and even returned the gestures.

But hugs. He and Zeb had only had a few since that first one, the night Kallus started walking again, none as enthusiastic as this one. None since Kallus realized he wanted more than friendship from Zeb. None so full of feeling as this particular hug.

Kallus managed to work his arms around Zeb, feeling velvety fur between his fingers and smelling the sharp odor that meant ‘Zeb’ and ‘comfort’ and ‘safety’, nearly sweating from proximity to the natural furnace that was Garazeb Orrelios.

His senses were overwhelmed, but Kallus loved every second that the hug lasted. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into Zeb.

“Been too long,” Zeb rumbled. “I missed havin’ you around.”

Despite his own private agreement, Kallus reasoned, “It’s only been two weeks, Zeb. Surely we can be apart that long.”

“Mm, maybe.” Zeb let go of Kallus and stepped back. “Still, seeing you again’s the best part of my day.”

Kallus felt the flush deepen, spreading to his cheeks. _Mine, too,_ he wanted to say, but held back. “I don’t know, seeing Azadi put Pryce in binders was pretty kriffing marvelous.”

Zeb laughed. “I didn’t ever have to deal with her like you did, so I’ll take your word for it.”

“It’s almost as satisfying as it will be when Thrawn is dealt with,” Kallus said darkly. “ _Almost_.”

Zeb nodded over to where Ezra was in a deep conversation with Mattin, one of the young pilots who’d been on Lothal from the start of the mission. “Sounds like he’s planning for that to happen tonight.”

Before Kallus could answer, Ezra waved at the two of them. “Kallus! I’ve got a job for you!”

Kallus exchanged glances with Zeb, who followed him over to where Ezra was standing.

The young Jedi waved over the other members of their little cabal. “Okay, guys, I know what we’re going to do. Listen up.”

Kallus listened, eyebrows rising in surprise a few times. Ezra wasn’t a bad strategist. His plan was bold and would take the Force being on their side, but it was doable.

If only Kallus didn’t have to play his part.

It was getting close to mission start time and Zeb hadn’t seen Kallus in a while. He checked with the others and Sabine pointed him to a crack in the rock formation, a small path to the other side of the rock towers.

Zeb squeezed through carefully and followed the trail around until he caught sight of Kallus.

The man was standing in his underwear, staring at the Imperial uniform draped over a boulder in front of him. It looked like he’d been there a while.

The uniform wasn’t much. It was some random Moff’s aide’s outfit, stolen on some random mission for Kanan to wear. That meant it would be a bit too small for Kallus, but not obscenely so, Zeb figured. The uniform was made of plain black cloth, lacking the armor Kallus used to wear all the time.

“You okay?” Zeb asked gently.

Kallus startled and looked at him. He schooled his face quickly, but Zeb saw the sad look in his eyes anyway. “I’m fine,” he said, obviously lying.

Zeb crossed his arms and waited.

Sighing, Kallus sat down on the boulder next to the uniform, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was nearly naked. 

Zeb was _not_ oblivious, but he recognized this was not the time to ogle the human’s muscles.

“I thought I was through wearing a uniform on behalf of the Empire,” Kallus said finally. “I’ve worked so hard to become a different person and the thought of putting that on feels like I’ll be stepping back into the skin of the monster I was. Becoming all that I once was, losing everything I’ve tried to change about myself.”

That was more honesty than Zeb had expected from the incredibly guarded Kallus, but it made sense. Kallus was a very different person now than he’d been when he defected; a very _very_ different person than he’d been on Bahryn. It made sense he wouldn’t want to be reminded of his past.

Zeb walked over carefully, sitting down on the rock with the uniform between them. “Kal, you know that the uniform is not _you_ , right? It’s just a costume. It doesn’t make you an Imperial any more than Ezra wearing a scout trooper uniform makes _him_ Imperial. No one on our team here thinks of you as an Imperial.”

“What am I?” Kallus asked plaintively. “What am I if not my uniform?”

Kallus hadn’t sounded this down on himself in weeks. Obviously the idea of this particular uniform was really getting to him.

“You’re much more than that, Kal,” Zeb said, wishing he could reach over and pull Kallus into a hug, but there wasn’t a great excuse like he’d had earlier. “You’ve proved that to all of us. You’re the person who risks his life to help others. Who denies himself when others are in need. Who insisted on rescuing a man who hates you.”

Kallus said nothing, but Zeb got the impression he was exerting a lot of energy to control his reactions.

“You’re my soulmate, but you’re also my best friend, buddy. My only best friend now that Kanan– that Kanan’s gone. And I need you to know that the rest of us see the good in you.” Zeb paused and then, in a fit of daring, reached over and grabbed Kallus’s hand. “Not whatever you _think_ we see.”

Kallus stared up at him, eyes wide, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I feel dirty,” he said quietly. “Just looking at it.”

“It’s just for the mission, Kal,” Zeb reminded him. “It’s not you and I won’t think of you any differently seeing you wear it. No one will.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Zeb’s hand dwarfing Kallus’s, but neither man pulled away.

Eventually, Kallus sighed. “Ezra wants to leave soon,” he said steadily. “I’d better hurry.”

“Want me to leave?” Zeb asked, moving his hand so Kallus could stand.

“If you want.” Kallus shrugged. “You could stay and check I’m properly done up.”

Selfishly, Zeb stayed. Watching Kallus get dressed was an experience – Zeb had never thought watching someone _put on_ clothes could be so titillating. He controlled himself, however, and helped Kallus straighten the shirt down his back, making sure it was tucked in properly despite being a size or two too small. Zeb handed him his belt and boots when necessary.

Finally, fully dressed, Kallus turned to Zeb and held his hands out, asking for inspection.

Zeb nodded. “Ya look good, Kal. Like you’re ready to take on the whole Empire.”

Kallus mirrored Zeb’s nod. “Let’s go, then.”

Zeb let Kallus lead the way back down the trail. Before they rounded the final turn, Kallus stopped. “Zeb?” he asked.

There was something in his voice… “Yeah?” Zeb said gently.

“I want– If you wouldn’t mind– I’d like–”

“Hey,” Zeb said, Kallus’s nervousness reaching into his heart. As Kallus turned around, Zeb placed a hand on his bicep, squeezing lightly. The black shirt caught on his thumb’s claw as he rubbed it back and forth, trying to reassure. “Kal, I’m here. Whatever you need.”

“Call me Alexsandr? Please?” Kallus looked him straight in the eyes as he asked. When Zeb didn’t say anything immediately, he continued, “To the Empire, I was merely _Agent Kallus_. In the Rebellion, I’m _Captain Kallus_. To everyone I’m on even mildly good terms with, I’m just _Kallus_. I thought that’s who I always would be. But the things you said back there, that you see me as more than I used to be… It makes me want to be someone other than Kallus, Zeb, at least to you. I want to be Alexsandr again, not just a surname.”

Zeb had never even heard Kallus refer to himself as ‘Alexsandr’, so the request shocked him a little bit. He couldn’t deny that he’d fantasized about getting to use Kallus’s given name, maybe in a more private setting. 

“I can do that,” he said, forcing himself to concentrate on more wholesome thoughts, like calming the nervous man in front of him. “Alexsandr. I like that. When was the last time anyone called you that?”

“Katya,” Kallus whispered. “Katya was the only one who ever called me that after our mother gave us up.”

“So, not since family?” Zeb asked. “Alexsandr, you do know I think of you as family, too, right? So do the others. You’re one of us and have been for a while.”

Blinking away what appeared to be tears, Kallus nodded shortly and then composed himself, a stern expression taking over his face. When he looked back at Zeb, he appeared every inch the Imperial he’d been for years. The only incongruous things were his longer, softer locks of rosy blond hair and the warmth behind his eyes, golden like a certain meteorite they’d once huddled around.

It was a disconcerting sight, but Zeb grinned. The name _Alexsandr_ rolled off his tongue easily, even just in his mind. He adored saying it as much as he adored the man who bore the name. 

Even standing there in that black Imperial uniform, with his shoulders back and face set, he wasn’t just Kallus anymore. Zeb saw Alexsandr. And he always would, no matter the disguise the man chose to wear, no matter what others thought of his soulmate. 

_Alexsandr._

Blaster bolts flew by Kallus – _No,_ he reminded himself, _you’re Alexsandr again_ – barely missing his head as he crouched low and provided covering fire for the team at the lower reactor override panels. 

Historically, any plan of Ezra Bridger’s went awry at some point despite being strategically sound; he had seen that as both an Imperial and a Rebel. The plan to blow up the Imperial Complex had been solid, but it had since gone awry, Alexsandr reflected, looking at their current position.

He wasn’t alone in that thought. “We’re gonna have to do something drastic!” said Gregor.

The hair on the back of Alexsandr’s neck stood up. _I have a bad feeling about this._

Alexsandr glanced back at Zeb, intending to share his premonition, but the lasat was putting away his bo-rifle. 

“All right. I’ll do it,” Zeb said. He looked straight at Alexsandr and shrugged. “Sorry, buddy.”

Before Alexsandr had time to really react, Zeb bounded past him and off the platform, launching himself into midair.

Alexsandr reached out with one hand, as if he could draw his soulmate back. “ _Garazeb, don’t!”_ he cried desperately. Zeb couldn’t sacrifice himself like this, not after all they’d been through.

All of Alexsandr’s efforts were for naught, however. Zeb was down in the reactor core, wrestling with Rukh.

“He’s crazy!” said Gregor, who’d stopped shooting as well.

Alexsandr glared at the clone, furious and terrified. “But it _was_ your idea,” he bit out. _And if Zeb doesn’t make it out, neither will you._ “Come on!” He ran forward, leading a charge onto the closest control platform, taking out three out of four of the technicians himself.

He’d missed one, however, and that one managed to hit Gregor in the chest. The clone had enough strength left to wrestle his attacker off the platform.

Alexsandr rushed to his side, attempting to ease the clone to the floor where he’d be safer. Gregor pushed him away, saying, “Get that shield up.”

The shield. That was the job; getting the reactor back online so they could raise the shield over the city.

But Zeb was in the reactor.

Alexsandr couldn’t think about that. He needed to focus on the mission. The mission was more important than him, more important than Zeb – even if losing Zeb would also kill Alexsandr. 

He ran back to the control panel, typing in the ISB codes that would override the system locks and let him activate the reactor. Luckily enough, the codes hadn’t been changed after his defection.

 _Not the smartest move_ , Alexsandr thought. _They underestimated my determination to bring them down._

As he worked, he kept glancing over the top of the panel, trying in vain to see Zeb, to make sure he was still alive.

 _“Guys, now or never!_ ” said Sabine over the comm.

Zeb was out of time.

“ _ZEB!”_ Alexsandr called desperately, hoping to warn him, hoping to see him crawl out of the pit, that dumb lopsided grin on his face.

For five long, excruciating seconds, there was silence. Zeb didn’t appear, nor did he say anything.

Then, faintly: “Don’t wait on me!”

Alexsandr’s heart stopped.

As Sabine had said, it was now or never. He had to make a choice: the mission or his soulmate?

There was really only one answer for Alexsandr Kallus, as painful as it was. He hit the button sequence to fire up the reactor.

Below, a red glow began making its way around the central column as the cells lit up and connected to each other. The circle completed and a scream arose from the reactor, followed by the sickening smell of burning flesh.

Alexsandr ran to the edge, searching frantically. That hadn’t sounded like Zeb screaming, but he needed to be sure. Behind him, Rex ran over to the fallen Gregor. Alexsandr knew he should be over there, too, but he couldn’t help himself.

 _There!_ Zeb pulled himself up onto a lower platform. He looked up at Alexsandr and smiled.

Relief flooded into Alexsandr’s heart, making him weak at the knees. He grabbed the control panel for support and watched as Zeb made impossibly high jumps and leaps, making his way back to Alexsandr.

Zeb crawled onto the platform, breathing heavily, and shot him a cocky grin. “Toldja,” he said, eyes sparkling.

Alexsandr couldn’t stop his voice from wavering as he replied. “You didn’t tell me _anything_ , you great purple lout. You just jumped!”

Zeb stood and held his hands out. “Ah, I was gonna be okay. Ya didn’t need to worry, Alexsandr.”

He meant to say something sharp. He meant to stand his ground. He meant to be angry.

Instead, Alexsandr stumbled forward, into Zeb’s arms, wrapping him in a tight hug. Face buried in Zeb’s neck, he repeated over and over again, “I almost killed you. You’re my best friend and I almost killed you.”

Zeb hesitated a moment before hugging back, tight and warm and comforting. “To be fair, you’ve tried to kill me a lot over the years.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Alexsandr said, pulling back. He felt tears in his eyes – relieved, joyful tears, but tears nonetheless.

Zeb studied his face, carefully using one finger to wipe away the few tears that did fall. He slid his other hand behind Alexsandr’s head, cupping it and holding him in place.

“Alexsandr…” he said tenderly, ears drooping gently, looking soft and inviting. Alexsandr wanted to touch them.

He didn’t, though, because to Alexsandr’s great astonishment, Zeb bent down at that moment and kissed him.

Alexsandr didn’t stop to analyze what was happening; he threw his arms around Zeb’s neck reflexively, pressing into the kiss as hard as he could. He refused to think about it – thinking made things too complicated. He just wanted to drink in the spicy, alien taste of Zeb’s lips and tongue and never have the moment end.

It wasn’t to last any longer than those few moments, however. The hard muzzle of a blaster tapped him on the shoulder and Rex’s irritated voice said, “Not the time, guys. We’ve got to move if we want to get out of here.”

Alexsandr broke the kiss, knowing Rex was right. “We have to run,” he whispered.

“I’m right behind you,” promised Zeb. “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

Zeb spoke the truth and Alexsandr was very _very_ grateful for that fact right at that moment, but he knew what needed to be done. If the reactor was alive, they would need to launch the dome as soon as the engines could be primed and then start the self-destruct sequence. There was no room for delay, so Alexsandr, Zeb, and Rex needed to hurry if they wanted to live.

Alexsandr led the way through the halls, so familiar from his days working in that very complex. He recognized some of the faces who watched them go by; Imperial aides and governmental attachés and pilots who’d taken their helmets off as they tried to understand what was happening.

He tried not to think about them, even as their faces were seared into his memory.

They skidded into the control room just in time to see purrgil – _purrgil_ , of all creatures – wind their tentacles through the _Chimaera_ and the rest of the Seventh Fleet. Lights flashed on their tentacles, and Alexsandr watched, stunned, as they dragged the fleet into hyperspace.

He stared at the empty sky for a minute, unable to look away, trying to figure out what he’d missed. Who called the purrgil? Where had they gone? Had Ezra planned that somehow?

For a final time, Ezra Bridger had taken Alexsandr by complete surprise.

The band of startled Rebels didn’t have long to process what had happened; a small detachment of stormtroopers entered the control bay and started shooting at them.

Sabine broke a pane of transparisteel with Ezra’s lightsaber – _did he leave her that on purpose?_ – and Alexsandr climbed onto the roof, stopping to help the others pull themselves up, too. Only once the last person was up did he run to the platform where the _Ghost_ could pick them up.

The last person was, of course, Zeb, and Alexsandr was torn between wanting to lecture him on his stupid, self-sacrificing actions during the mission and admiring his dedication to protecting his crew.

The stormtroopers followed them onto the roof and a standoff took place: the Rebels were pinned down until the _Ghost_ flew overhead and shot the transparisteel roof out from underneath the stormtroopers.

One by one, the infiltration crew jumped onto the _Ghost_ ’s ramp and into the safety of the cargo hold.

Alexsandr leaned against the back wall and caught his breath as the _Ghost_ flew clear of the rising Imperial Complex. His head was swimming, overstimulated, and he thought he must look a little wild even though he was trying to control himself.

 _Zeb almost died. I almost killed him. And then he_ kissed _me. I liked it. A lot. But too much has happened._ Alexsandr rubbed his eyes, willing away the encroaching exhaustion. He chastised himself. _Now is not the time, Alexsandr. Zeb needs a friend, not you begging him for scraps of affection._

In the middle of the hold, Alexsandr observed Zeb crouched in on himself, his spine curved and head bowed. His ears, so expressive, lay against the top of his head. His eyes were large and yet Zeb had never looked smaller in all the time Alexsandr had known him. He was hurting, but at least he had Hera and Sabine with him. 

The remaining Spectres hugged, Zeb’s arms swallowing the two women whole as they sobbed into his fur. It was so unlike either Hera or Sabine to openly cry, but after having two family members so brutally ripped from their arms, desperately clinging to each other and crying seemed the least unexpected thing from the Spectres. Everyone on the _Ghost_ knew it, too.

Alexsandr wanted to go over there, to hug and reassure Zeb, but he hung back. _It’s not my place to interrupt a family moment._

_We’ll get our chance, eventually._

The _Ghost_ , parked just outside Capital City, was packed. There were more people than there were bunks, so Zeb quietly told Ryder Azadi to take his bunk for the night. He dug in one of the storage closets and found the old canvas tent that Hera kept stashed just in case it was needed.

Heading off on his own, Zeb set up the tent out in the middle of the prairie, a good ten minutes’ walk from the ship.

He needed a break: from Hera’s barely-held-together stoicism, from the Lothalian celebrations, from the echoing din of so many people in the _Ghost_.

He needed to _mourn_.

Zeb sat in front of the tent, watching the twin moons cross the sky, and simply let his mind wander. 

He thought about Kanan and how he’d been Zeb’s first friend after Lasan. How he saved Zeb from himself by giving him a new place to belong. How Kanan had done the same for Sabine and Ezra; there’d been so much love in that man’s heart and now it was gone from the galaxy.

And Ezra. Ezra was so _young_. He might yet be alive, but he might not, and it was likely that Zeb would never know one way or another. Ezra had been a pain in the butt, but he was like a brother, closer to Zeb than his own flesh-and-blood brothers had been. But now, Zeb had no brothers left.

He still had Alexsandr. He still had Hera. He still had Sabine. Zeb knew he should be grateful they hadn’t lost more people than just Kanan and Ezra, but that didn’t dull the grief that filled his soul.

Exhaustion overtook him, physical and emotional, and Zeb stood, ready to go hide in his tent.

“Zeb?”

He turned toward that soft, deep voice, coming from the other side of the tent.

“Alexsander.” Zeb really hoped he didn’t want to talk about the kiss. It’d been an exhilarated spur-of-the-moment thing, something he should have kept to himself, and he didn’t feel like trying to explain that without some serious rest first.

Stepping around to face him, Alexsander gently placed a hand on Zeb’s arm, mirroring Zeb’s reassuring actions from earlier. “I’m so sorry,” he said simply. “I know you loved them.”

The gentle sympathy in Alexsandr’s voice proved to be too much. Zeb, who hadn’t cried since Lasan, broke down weeping. He fell to his knees in front of Alexsandr, who wrapped him in a hug, softly rubbing a hand up and down his back, a bearded cheek laid against Zeb’s forehead.

“It’s okay,” Alexsandr said. “It’s okay to let it out. I’m here for whatever you need.”

Zeb felt Alexsandr touch the top of his head, the brush of his lips so light they barely registered. Part of Zeb wanted those lips to never stray too far from his skin.

“Alexsandr…” Zeb repeated, nearly choking on the thickness of his own throat. “Why?”

Rather than answer with platitudes or generic reassurances, Alexsandr admitted, “I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll ever know why. But I do know they both saved your life and for that, I am supremely grateful. Their sacrifices mean that you’re still here, with me, and I could not ask for anything more.”

Zeb pulled Alexsandr closer to him, burying his face in the human’s chest. He’d changed out of his Imperial costume and was in sleeping clothes now, soft things that were still a little too small on him; it’d been nearly impossible for him to find things that fit properly in the Rebellion. Zeb was too caught up in grief to really notice or appreciate the way his shirt rode up, exposing a strip of pale skin around his waist.

All that really registered with Zeb was the comforting smell of Alexsandr, the warmth of his embrace, the feel of his lips against the fur on his head, and the way Zeb’s heart twisted and squeezed inside his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“It’s okay,” Alexsandr repeated softly. “Let it out, Zeb. That’s why I’m here.”

Placing his trust in Alexsandr, Zeb let the little walls of control that he’d been maintaining crumble. He wept in Alexsandr’s arms, speaking when he could, of what he could.

At some point before the moons hit the high point of their crossing, Zeb and Alexsandr ended up in the tent, lying down together, limbs entangled as they held each other face to face. Both were still fully clothed; nothing had happened beyond shared heartache and sorrow.

Heartache and sorrow had not wholly stolen the night away, however. Alexsandr had been there for Zeb, as steady and reliable as he’d ever been, amidst the cacophony of agony surrounding them. By the time he was finished talking, Zeb felt wrung out, as if he had no more tears, no more energy possibly left in his body. 

Alexsandr was still crying, however, letting Zeb into his personal anguish about the Imperial Complex.

“Most of them were barely more than boys,” he said. “I know they were casualties of war. I know they signed up with the knowledge it was possible to die. But, Zeb, how many of them were like me? What if they’d just needed a push to see what the Empire really was? How many good people with the hearts of Rebels died today because they wore the wrong uniform?”

Zeb honestly hadn’t thought about the casualties. An Imperial was an Imperial.

Except that wasn’t true and the man in his arms proved it.

Zeb pressed his forehead against Alexsandr’s, the soft blond strands of Alexsandr’s hair falling into Zeb’s face. “I’m sorry they didn’t have a chance to change,” he said, finding he really meant it. “I’m glad you did.”

“Only because of you,” Alexsandr pointed out. “I would have died with them today or I would be lost with the Seventh Fleet if it weren’t for you.”

“No,” Zeb said. “You’d have found your way to us anyway.”

“I wouldn’t have and you know it,” Alexsandr said. “I owe you – I owe all of you – more than I can ever repay. Kanan didn’t have to welcome me like he did. Ezra didn’t have to accept me like he did. But they did. You all did. You’ve let me into your family when you shouldn’t have. You haven’t kicked me out for being what I am.”

Zeb wiped away a tear from Alexsandr’s face. He was half tempted to kiss the tears away, but the moment was almost too intimate for that. The air was heavy with emotion and the sensation of Alexsandr’s arms and legs wrapped up in his felt transcendent beyond physical attraction.

It had to be the soul bond bringing them together, binding them, connecting them. Allowing them to help carry each other’s desperate mourning grief. Zeb had never felt so close to any other being in the universe.

He moved just enough to rest his lips on Alexsandr’s forehead, a soft, ongoing kiss. Alexsandr clung tighter to his chest, breathing a little raggedly as he cried.

“What you are, Alexsandr, is my soulmate. Impossibly kind and clever and honorable, even if you can’t see it in yourself.” It wasn’t what Alexsandr had been talking about and they both knew it, but that didn’t change how much Zeb meant the words, or how true they were. 

“Zeb,” Alexsandr said, through his tears. “Zeb, please.”

“I’ve got you,” whispered Zeb. He wasn’t sure if Alexsandr had been pleading with him to stop or to continue, but Zeb chose to continue. “And you’ve got me. That’s never going to change, no matter what happens.”

“I believe you,” Alexsandr sobbed. “I believe you, Zeb.”

Zeb rubbed Alexsandr’s back, fingers catching his sleep shirt and running underneath it, the short sensitive fur of Zeb’s fingertips brushing Alexsandr’s soft skin. 

Time passed. The stillness of the night fell over the tent as Alexsandr ran out of tears. Zeb knew it didn’t mean he’d been miraculously healed – Zeb hadn’t been, either – but things seemed a little more manageable now, after what they’d shared.

“We should sleep,” Zeb suggested, hoping the statement didn’t make Alexsandr pull away. “There will be work to do in the morning.”

Alexsandr nodded. If anything, he curled a little closer against Zeb. “Is it okay if I stay here? I can leave you alone if you want.”

“No,” said Zeb. “Don’t leave. Ever.”

“I won’t,” murmured Alexsandr. “You’ve lost too much already and I never want you to feel alone again.”

Zeb wanted to say something eloquent, wanted to confess everything he felt, but he was too tired, too close to sleep. All he managed was, “Thank you, Alexsandr. I–”

“I know, Zeb. I know.”

Satisfied, Zeb closed his eyes, breathing in Alexsander’s scent, no longer feeling hollow and aching, the fill of his lungs thicker and warmer than just air.

With Alexsandr at his side, the galaxy didn’t seem so dark and empty anymore despite the holes Kanan and Ezra had left behind.


	11. Chapter 11

Life went on after Lothal, much like it had before. A bit more tense, maybe, as the Rebellion expected Imperial punishments to rain down on the newly independent planet, but the attacks never came about.

Their ragtag group of liberators split up, everyone going back to their normal lives as if they’d never teamed up and done something amazing together.

Back on Yavin 4, the Spectres found themselves down three members, instead of two, as Sabine chose to stay behind on Lothal to raise the alarm in case the Imperials did show. 

Rex filled in where he could, but he was no Kanan. And Alexsandr…

Well, it felt like Zeb never saw Alexsandr anymore.

He was busy with Intelligence work, Zeb knew. Zeb understood that. And sometimes they still met for breakfast. Sometimes they met earlier in the mornings to spar. Sometimes they sat out in front of the _Ghost_ at night together, looking at the few visible stars.

On the surface, everything was fine. But underneath, things were going very wrong in Zeb’s opinion. Every time he started to talk about Lothal, Alexsandr shut him down.

He couldn’t get Alexsandr to listen while he explained that he meant the kiss. That the night they just held each other was forever etched in Zeb’s memory as something so wonderful it was treasured by Zeb even in his sleep. Any time the conversation veered near a serious topic, however, Alexsandr found an excuse to leave.

Zeb practically had to pin him to a wall to get him to be still long enough so that Zeb could share the news of Hera’s pregnancy. The topic ought to have been safe enough, but apparently not. Alexsandr withdrew even more; he stopped sparring, stopped sharing meals with Zeb. The dark, dusty corners of the Intelligence department swallowed him whole, Alexsandr hidden from view behind mountains of flimsi and datapads.

“Zeb,” Alexsandr said when he was pushed on it. “General Draven expects a certain standard of performance from me. I’ve got more work on my desk right now than I have since I arrived on Yavin 4. I don’t have time to do anything else.”

It felt like they’d taken a huge step forward, only for Alexsandr to take two steps away.

Aggravated, Zeb threw himself into working on the _Ghost_ , fixing all those little problems that had piled up over the last few months. Loose wires, oil stains, rattling panels, targeting system alignments, carbon scoring on the hull… There was plenty to do as long as Zeb needed a distraction.

He was scrubbing the lenses on one of the deflector shield projectors when Hera came to find him. 

“There you are,” she said, hands on her hip. “There’s news. You should join us.”

Zeb growled a little. “Just find me later and tell me what happened.”

“Zeb,” Hera said, lowering her voice threateningly. “You need to take a break. I don’t know what happened with you and Kallus but you need to figure it out and stop behaving like this.”

Setting down the rag, Zeb looked at Hera, a little shocked at her vehemence. He had assumed she was nothing but grateful for all the work he was doing on her ship, but apparently she wasn’t going to be happy until he dealt with Alexsandr.

He swung down from the _Ghost_ ’s hull and faced her, curious.

“Look,” she said. “Don’t do what I did. Don’t wait too late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zeb protested. “And you don’t, either.”

Hera reached out and grabbed his arm as he tried to walk by. “I do and you know it. Rex told me about the kiss and it’s obvious _something_ happened that night. I don’t know what it was, but you were happy. Kallus was happy. And then we got back here and it all fell apart.”

“Hera, just leave it,” he said, pleading a little. “I’ll figure out what to do, I promise.”

She held his gaze, unblinking. “I hope you do,” she said, softly. “I really hope you do. Losing a soulmate to death has been hard enough. I don’t want to watch you lose Kallus to inaction, especially not when you were in such a good place.”

Zeb gulped, looking away. “What’s this news?” he asked, rubbing at a greasy spot on the heel of his palm.

“There’s a new defector. He’s about to talk to the Council about some new weapon the Empire is building. Come lurk and hear what he has to say.” Hera crossed her arms. “You might even see Kallus. He’s been processing the defector all morning.”

“Fine, I’ll be there. Just let me clean up.” Zeb purposefully avoided looking at Hera as he headed up the _Ghost_ ’s ramp, fully aware she knew he’d only changed his mind because of the chance to see Alexsandr.

He might be avoiding talking to Zeb, but that didn’t change the fact that Zeb was in love with Alexsandr. Didn’t change the fact that he _needed_ the little tastes of his company he was allowed; Alexsandr was a drug better than spice or glitterstim, as far as Zeb was concerned.

And Zeb was an unapologetic addict.

Alexsandr watched from the entryway to the Temple as Andor and that Erso girl rounded up volunteers.

He knew exactly what they were doing. They were going to steal that _Zeta_ shuttle and go on a suicide mission to Scarif. If he were responsible, he’d report them.

If he were to give into impulse, he’d join them. Show the galaxy that Alexsandr Kallus meant it when he turned against the Empire, meant it when he gave his wholehearted support to the Rebellion.

Had Hera and Chopper not been standing within sight, he might have done it. As it was, Alexsandr kept an eye out, diverting any of his superiors that might try to stop Andor.

Across the way, Zeb joined Hera, pointedly not looking Alexsandr’s way.

Alexsandr turned and stepped back into the darkness of the Temple. Zeb had been friendly enough during their regular meetings, but Alexsandr was, frankly, terrified of him at the moment.

That night on Lothal, being held by Zeb as they both mourned, Alexsandr had been slapped in the face with a realization: he loved Zeb.

No, he didn’t just love Zeb. He was absolutely, one hundred percent _smitten_ with Zeb. In love in all the worst possible ways.

For the last month, Alexsandr had loved from a distance, avoiding serious conversations because he might just blurt it all out, ruin the friendship they’d so carefully built. And it _would_ ruin things, he knew, because Zeb kept trying to explain away the kiss.

Alexsandr hadn’t ever let him finish – the idea hurt too deeply – but he knew what Zeb would say. It was an impulsive, heat of the moment event. It was just a celebration of survival, not a declaration of any sort of desire.

It couldn’t be. There was no way someone as good and as pure and caring as Garazeb Orrelios could love Alexsandr Kallus like that. Not the man who’d helped destroy his planet and massacre his people.

Oh, Zeb had said over and over that he was forgiven, but Alexsandr knew some things were beyond forgiveness. Zeb might have learned to tolerate him – to enjoy his company, even – since they were tied together by the soul bond, but love?

It was out of the question and Alexsandr sought to protect himself from ever running up against that wall. There was no sense bringing them both pain.

With one last look at Zeb, brilliant in the sunlight, Alexsandr snuck back to his desk. He had a job to do: start piecing together the information about this planet killer from the fragments he’d already collected. The information Bodhi Rook had given Alexsandr shined a light on many things that had been confusing him. The worker transports that simply disappeared, the mad dash to mine kyber crystals, the missing project from Geonosis: they all made sense now.

Hours later, as evening began to close in, Alexsandr was still at his desk, buried in datapads and notes on flimsi. Things were coming together and they made an increasingly ominous picture.

A klaxon sounded, calling pilots to ships, breaking Alexsandr’s concentration. He stood, watching as the base came alive around him.

The announcements – he recognized Wedge Antilles’s voice – called all available fighters and crew to their ships, for an immediate assault on Scarif.

 _Scarif?_ Draven had made it quite clear at the meeting that they couldn’t risk a coordinated assault on the planet, but it appeared someone had changed their mind.

Pushing back from his desk, Alexsandr got a little light-headed when he stood – a sure sign he’d worked through dinner. Too late to go to the mess, though, not with a general alarm going on.

He found General Draven standing in the briefing room, a planetary holo of Scarif floating over the circular table. 

“Did you know Andor was going to steal that shuttle?” Draven asked.

“No, sir,” Alexsandr lied easily. “I’ve been at my desk most of the day.”

Draven grunted, as if he knew Alexsandr was lying. “Your Orrelios and his crew are going with the fleet to Scarif. You’d better hurry if you want to catch them before they leave.”

“I wouldn’t want to distract him,” Alexsandr said truthfully.

Nodding almost imperceptibly, Draven shifted on his feet. “Understandable. With luck, those of us staying behind will all see our soulmates return from this action.”

An agonizing twisting erupted inside Alexsandr’s chest at Draven’s words.

It wasn’t like he didn’t realize Zeb could die every time the _Ghost_ took off. Hells, he could die of a mishap on base at any moment. They were all vulnerable.

He used to think the Spectres were blessed by some force, perhaps the Ashla, to come back from every battle unscathed, but then they lost Kanan and Ezra and that illusion came crumbling down around Alexsandr. It was all dumb luck, perhaps a touch of skill, and nothing more.

So he knew Zeb might die over Scarif. Alexsandr wasn’t deluding himself. He simply tried to ignore it, else he would be able to focus on nothing else. He’d been doing so well, too, until Draven spoke.

“Excuse me,” he said, walking quickly out of the Temple.

Alexsandr turned away from the _Ghost_ and headed past the snubfighter hangar, down the well-worn path he took with Zeb in the mornings. There, in their clearing, Alexsandr knelt before the giant Massassi tree, one hand placed on its rough purple bark.

 _Ashla, bring him back to me, whole and healthy. Bring all of them back. Let this mission succeed, let the plans be stolen, but above all, keep Garazeb Orrelios alive. I can’t live without him. I_ won’t _live without him. I love him more than life itself._

As if the Ashla were talking to him, Alexsandr clearly heard Katya’s voice in his head, as no-nonsense as she ever was.

 _“Then_ tell _him, you idiot!”_

The planet killer, the weapon the pilot defector warned them about, _existed_ and it worked. Zeb had seen it firsthand, staring in horror as the gigantic laser boiled Scarif’s seas and destroyed the Imperial installation.

He stood outside the _Ghost_ , back on Yavin 4 once more, watching as everyone scrambled to pack up the base. It was only a matter of time before the Imperials found them after what happened at Scarif, and with their new battlestation, the Rebellion needed to be ready to leave on a moment’s notice.

Then, across the way, he caught a flash of golden hair in the morning sunlight.

_Alexsandr._

The man strode through the throng of rushing people, cool and collected as if he hadn’t yet heard about the massive superweapon.

There was relief on Alexsandr’s face when he locked eyes with Zeb. “You made it back,” he said.

“Yeah,” Zeb said, not wanting to allow himself to believe the softness in Alexsandr’s voice. “It was a kriffing close thing, though.”

Alexsandr’s hand jerked, an aborted move to reach out to Zeb, it seemed. “I, uh. While you were gone, I prayed to the Ashla for you. That you’d stay safe.”

That stopped Zeb, made him really _look_ at Alexsandr.

The man had bags under his eyes; it was possible he hadn’t slept all night. _Did he keep a vigil for us? Even Hera and Rex and I took turns sleeping during the hyperspace jumps. Did he bother to stop and eat? Karabast, Alexsandr, will you please take care of yourself?_

“What do you want, Alexsandr?” Zeb asked, his voice soft to keep the question from sounding harsh. He didn’t want to scare Alexsandr off; he’d been so skittish since Lothal and he was finally seeking Zeb out.

“They got the plans out, right? No one’s made it back with them yet, but I heard…”

“Yeah, they got the plans off-planet,” Zeb said. “But Hera said one of Organa’s ships got them and they were being chased by a Destroyer last anyone saw.”

“Oh.” Alexsandr sounded distant, not quite himself, looking past Zeb’s head.

“You okay, buddy?”

Alexsandr flinched at Zeb’s words, but he nodded, bringing his eyes back to Zeb’s face. “I’m okay. I needed to talk to you, though. If you have the time.”

Zeb glanced over his shoulder. He really ought to be helping to clear up space in the _Ghost_ in preparation for a possible evacuation, but…

Well, he wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to spend time with Alexsandr, no matter what he wanted to talk about. Maybe this time, Zeb could finally broach the topic of Lothal and Alexsandr wouldn’t run away.

“Yeah, I got the time,” he said easily. “Whatcha need?”

Alexsandr gestured off to the jungle behind the _Ghost_. “Maybe a little more privacy?”

Zeb tried not to read into the request as he led the way back to the small space he used to pray to the Ashla. It was probably where Alexsandr meant for them to go simply for convenience’s sake; his soulmate couldn’t know all the desperate prayers Zeb had said in this place, asking the Ashla to help bring Alexsandr back to him.

Alexsandr stopped in front of one of the purple trees, nervously combing a hand through his already messy hair. “Zeb, I– About Lothal. We need to talk about that. _I_ need to talk about that.”

 _About kriffing time._ Zeb opened his mouth to make a smart remark about Alexsandr’s lack of communication skills, but he was cut off.

“Let me get this out, please,” he said, almost begging. “Zeb, I know it didn’t mean that much to you. I know we’re friends and that’s all we’ll ever be. But I realized something that night and I’ve been trying to come to terms with it ever since.”

The fur on Zeb’s back stood on end. _This sounds like… no, it can’t be._

“I say this knowing you don’t feel the same, that you can never feel the same. I’m fully aware I might be ruining our friendship. But, Zeb, we’re in danger every day. Every _kriffing_ day, I could lose you and I can’t let that happen without telling you that I love you.” Alexsandr paused briefly, just enough time to wet his lips. “I love you as more than a friend, more than a brother. I love you more profoundly than I have loved anything in my life. 

“I _know_ you don’t feel the same. I know I can never deserve you. I’ve been selfishly avoiding talking to you because I knew I would confess and you would have to rebuff me. I didn’t want to hear you say ‘no’. But after last night, after we lost so many people… I had to tell you and damn the consequences, so here I am.”

Zeb couldn’t stop himself: he laughed. He was too exhilarated to respond any other way. “‘ _Don’t feel the same’_. Karabast, Alexsandr, you emotionally stunted dolt!” He took two steps closer to Alexsandr, until he was centimeters from his face. “You’re so clever but you’re so wrong. Of _course_ I love you. How could I not be in love with the most important being in my life?”

For once dumbfounded, Alexsandr stared into Zeb’s eyes, pretty mouth agape.

Emboldened, Zeb shoved Alexsandr back, pushing him up against a tree. He ran his claws through Alexsandr’s hair and leaned in close, stopping just shy of kissing Alexsandr.

“I love you, Alexsandr Kallus. I thought _you_ didn’t love _me_ and it’s been killin’ me. Never pull away like that again, you hear? I need you.”

“N– need?” stuttered Alexsandr, his breath warm in Zeb’s face.

“ _Need_.” Zeb closed the last centimeters and pressed his lips against Alexsandr’s. 

Alexsandr responded by opening his mouth, letting Zeb in to explore. Zeb wasn’t sure if Alexsandr’s sweet taste was because he was human or because he’d had some overly-sweetened caf earlier, but he liked it. He wanted more of it. If he never tasted anything else, he’d die a happy lasat.

Zeb let his hand slide down Alexsandr’s side, finding that the man’s ass fit perfectly in his hand. He squeezed, using a little bit of claw, making Alexsandr moan into his mouth.

Oh, _that_ was nice.

He thought he’d gained control with that move but then Alexsandr took the initiative, his hand much smaller but no less enthusiastic in its explorations of Zeb’s arms. A thrill ran through Zeb’s body as Alexsandr’s fingers plied their way under the shoulders of his jumpsuit and tickled his neck.

Alexsandr pulled back just far enough that he could speak. “I need you, too, Garazeb. I need you now.”

“Now?” Zeb growled, his mind racing. _Where can we go? He’s got a common bunk. My door shuts but Hera and Rex are on the ship. I don’t intend to be very quiet, so that’s not a good idea._

Above them, a low-pitched call sounded and both Zeb and Alexsandr turned their faces up to watch a flock of whisper birds take roost in the tree they leaned against. It was a quiet signal that none of Yavin 4’s predators were around – and possibly no other beings, either.

 _Ashla, are you trying to tell me something? That we’re safe here?_ Zeb thought. _Or am I reading too much into this?_

Alexsandr placed a hand on Zeb’s face, pulling him down for another kiss. “Here,” he murmured. “Now. Zeb, please.”

Unable to argue with such a plea, Zeb worked Alexsandr’s jacket off him – no easy task with Alexsandr’s hands roaming Zeb’s body. In return, Alexsandr found the zipper of Zeb’s jumpsuit and yanked it down.

Zeb pulled one arm free and set to work getting Alexsandr’s shirt off him. He knew what Alexsandr looked like under most of his clothes, but he needed to _touch_ him there, too.

Alexsandr bit his lip and moaned as Zeb trailed claws up his side. Zeb bunched the shirt up as he went and tossed it aside as soon as he’d tugged it free.

Nibbling at Alexsandr’s neck, Zeb squeezed a hand down the front of Alexsandr’s pants. Alexsandr gasped, clutching Zeb’s chest fur in both fists.

 _“WAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”_ came a loud wail through the jungle. Growling in frustration this time, Zeb turned his head to see Chopper fly over the undergrowth, manipulators waving wildly.

“Chopper, if you don’t leave now, I _will_ sell you for parts,” Zeb said, low and menacing.

 _“Wah wahhh waaah wah wah,”_ the droid replied.

“He says Hera needs you,” Alexsandr said softly, translating needlessly.

“ _Karabast!_ ” Zeb pushed back from Alexsandr and the tree, advancing on Chopper. “Tell her to give me a minute, you murderous little rust bucket.”

Chopper landed and crossed his manipulators, looking as impatient as an astromech could.

Zeb groaned. “Fine. I’ll follow you. I still need a minute.”

Alexsandr wiggled out from between Zeb’s arms and grabbed his shirt. He started smoothing down hair and clothing, making himself presentable again.

Well, mostly presentable. Both he and Zeb still needed a cooldown minute.

“Alexsandr…” Zeb said, reaching out for his soulmate’s hand and pulling him close once Alexsandr had taken it.

“What is it, Zeb?” asked Alexsandr, voice soft and sultry. 

“We’re picking this back up again.”

“Of course.”

Zeb nodded. “Right where we left off.”

Alexsandr smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.” He reached up and stroked Zeb’s cheeks. “Now you better go before your droid decides to drag you off.”

“I love you,” Zeb said, just to hear it one more time.

“And I love you,” Alexsandr responded, giving Zeb a light peck on the corner of his mouth. “Go. I’ll be waiting.”

“You better not hide from me again,” Zeb said. “Because I will come find you.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Fixing his jumpsuit and muttering obscenities, Zeb followed Chopper, leaving the love of his life back in the clearing. Unlike what happened on Lothal, however, Zeb trusted Alexsandr would be there for him when they had a free moment together again.

For two beings living so close together on a small Rebel base, it turned out to be surprisingly hard to steal intimate moments alone. Inevitably, wherever they were, someone stumbled upon them, or someone’s comlink went off, calling them back to work.

Alexsandr had never been so physically frustrated in his life.

Still, he refused to complain. He’d confessed his love and miraculously, Zeb loved him back.

His soulmate had returned from Scarif alive and healthy. Alexsandr knew many Rebels who had lost soulmates and family and friends in the battle and the looming threat of the Empire’s planet-killer didn’t help anyone dealing with grief.

Things were particularly tense in Intelligence, as General Draven’s soulmate was one of those who died, meaning everyone walked on tiptoes around him. The collective mood was only made worse when Alexsandr presented the Council with the calculations that due to the fleet losses over Scarif, only half of base personnel and equipment could be successfully evacuated in case of emergency.

The stolen battlestation plans were still in the solar winds and no one knew if they’d ever be recovered. The _Tantive IV_ , the ship supposedly carrying them, had quit responding to hails two cycles ago.

Then, Bail Organa’s cell on Alderaan fell out of touch. No planetary communications of any sort could be raised. A sympathetic trader dropping off supplies brought news of the worst: the Empire had tested the planet killer. Alderaan was no more.

Alexsandr couldn’t breathe when he heard of Alderaan’s destruction. _I helped create the conditions that made such a thing possible. I served the Empire while they built this machine. I probably helped ensure shipments of supplies and workers made it to the build site without Rebel interference._

Not even Zeb’s kisses could remove the haunted look from Alexsandr’s eyes.

And then, two days after Alderaan, a Corellian YT-1300 light freighter landed on Yavin 4, bringing with it the Princess Leia Organa, a boy named Skywalker, and two smugglers Alexsandr remembered quite well from his ISB days: Han Solo and Chewbacca.

When the group was brought to Intelligence to debrief, Solo – damn the man – winked when he saw Alexsandr.

_Winked._

Alexsandr might not have been an Imperial any more, might not have been hunting Solo as a deserter, but that didn’t mean he cared for Solo’s company, especially if the man was going to be like _that_. He looked away quickly, focusing on General Dodonna as he questioned the newcomers.

Excitedly, obviously still on an adrenaline high from their adventures, Skywalker and the Princess told of being captured by – and then escaping from – the planet killer. Their story was full of Jedi and the Force and lucky breaks; fantastical enough to remind Alexsandr of Ezra and the Spectes’ adventures prior to his defection.

There was only one real take-away from their words, however: the Death Star. 

_Death. Star._

Alexsandr was disgusted. _Death Star? Is the Empire even_ bothering _to try and pretend to be a peace-keeping organization any more?_

“You checked your ship for tracking devices, correct?” asked Alexsandr once Skywalker finished his overeager narrative.

For the first time, Solo looked miffed.

Alexsandr bit back a smile.

“Chewie did, didn’t ya?”

The Wookiee’s answer sounded decidedly negative.

“Will you Rebels _ever_ learn to check your ships for tracking devices?” Alexsandr muttered, storming back into the hangar. He called technicians over and had them do a manual search of the freighter.

There, just to the starboard side of the cockpit, almost imperceptible on the ship’s uneven hull, was a small black box.

A tracking device.

“ _Sithspit_!” swore Alexsandr. _The Empire knows where we are. We’re dead. We’re all already dead._

Alexsandr brought the deactivated device back to show the Council. “I’m afraid it was still transmitting when Solo landed,” he explained.

Mon Mothma nodded sadly. “Then we need to assume they’re on the way here. Sound the alarm for general evacuation.”

“Sir,” Alexsandr said, defaulting as usual to the Imperial-style honorifics. “We don’t have–”

“We know,” said Draven. “You informed us of that two days ago.”

Mon Mothma sighed. “We’ll have to take volunteers to stay behind.”

“The snubfighter squadrons will all stay,” said Commander Dreis, the _de facto_ leader of Starfighter Command since General Merrick’s death at Scarif. “We’ll provide a screen for the transports if necessary.”

Draven’s jaw visibly clenched.

“Thank you, Commander Dreis,” said General Sato. “First, though, we need to let Intelligence analyze the plans to see if we can find Galen Erso’s vulnerability.”

Alexsandr and the rest of Intelligence pored over the Death Star plans all day while around them, the base was torn down.

The evacuation preparations didn’t cause Alexsandr any undue stress. He knew, without a doubt, that Zeb had a place on the _Ghost_ and would get off-planet. Zeb would live to fight the Empire once more.

Alexsandr, on the other hand… Alexsandr needed to stay behind, to continue working. To analyze the Death Star, to assist the Council in any way necessary.

Even though Alexsandr’s group eventually found the Death Star’s weakness – a small thermal exhaust port that could be targeted by snubfighters – he didn’t really believe they could win against the beast that was the Empire. Not against the Death Star.

Yavin 4 would be destroyed. And Alexsandr would be on it.

He was at peace with his decision. For the first time in his life, Alexsandr was able to look back with satisfaction at the path he’d trod. It had brought him from the Empire and ignorance to a fight with real meaning and the love of his soulmate. He couldn’t ask for more than what he’d received. He didn’t deserve more than what he’d received. His only regret would be all the other lives lost with his.

Selfishly, he snuck away from the briefing General Dodonna gave the snubfighter pilots and found Zeb packing things on the _Ghost._

“Good, you’re here,” said Zeb. “Where’s your stuff?”

“I’m on another transport,” Alexsandr lied. “Leaving later. I’ll be with most of Intelligence.”

Zeb was just distracted enough not to catch Alexsandr in his lie. He nodded as he stacked crates. “Aren’t you supposed to be with them now?”

“I am,” Alexsandr confirmed, blatantly eying Zeb’s muscles as he worked. “But I’m here instead. I needed to see you.”

Zeb paused his work and studied Alexsandr’s face, moving in close. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“There’s a chance we’ll get out of this,” Alexsandr said, tilting his face up. Oh, how he loved that Zeb was taller than he was. Being shorter was such a novelty. “But it’s two meters wide and on the surface of the Death Star itself. A snubfighter pilot will have to hit it exactly.”

“So it’s a long shot.”

Alexsandr nodded.

Zeb leaned down, touching foreheads. “We’ve been up against bad odds before, Alexsandr. We might pull this off.”

“But the likelihood is that we won’t.” Alexsandr placed a hand on Zeb’s chest, taking comfort from his heartbeat. A heartbeat that would continue for years to come, if Alexsandr could help it. “The likelihood is that this will be the end of the organized Rebellion.”

“Yer a pessimist, Alexsandr Kallus.” Zeb cupped Alexsandr’s face in one great hand.

“Realist,” Alexsandr corrected.

“Mine,” Zeb said possessively. “Whatever else you are, you’re mine.”

Unable to help smiling, Alexsandr held Zeb’s hand to his face with one of his own, then turned and kissed the furred palm. “I am,” he agreed. “And I will be yours, as long as I live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My amazing beta wrote a gorgeous little side fic to this chapter, about the winner of the Will-They-Won't-They Kalluzeb betting pool.
> 
> [Go check it out!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24400429)


	12. Chapter 12

The _Ghost_ was so full of people and equipment, it nearly couldn’t escape atmosphere. Hera Syndulla was piloting, however, which meant miracles happened aboard that tightly packed freighter.

Zeb watched the other evacuation transports blip into existence on the scanner as they reached space. There were more ships than had escaped from Atollon, but there still weren’t enough for the entire populace of Yavin 4.

Eying the scanner, Zeb wondered which ship Alexsandr was on. 

Hera noticed him watching. “You want to find out where he is, don’t you?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t you?” he replied.

She nodded. “Wait ‘til everyone’s off-planet and in position, then you can hail the fleet to find out who hauled the Intelligence department out of there.”

Zeb nodded. That made sense; he didn’t want to interrupt the evacuation procedures, no matter how worried he was.

Hera led the fleet in a microjump to the far end of the system, away from Yavin’s current position and the likely entry point for the Death Star.

From this distance, Yavin was barely a speck of light and its moons not visible at all.

“Now’s your chance,” said Rex, sitting behind Zeb. He nudged Zeb in the shoulder. “Call for your man.”

 _Right. Time to find him._ Zeb picked up the comm mike and dialed in the general fleet frequency. “ _Ghost_ to Alliance fleet, we’re looking for the ship carrying the members of the Intelligence department.”

Silence.

Zeb repeated his question. Maybe comm distortion – a tactic used purposefully by the Rebellion to help hide pilot’s identities – meant his question hadn’t been heard properly.

A small voice replied. “Uh, _Ghost_ , this is the _Hydian_. We were last off Yavin 4 and the Intelligence department stayed behind with the fighter pilots and the patients in the med bay. I don’t think any of ‘em got on ships.”

Zeb looked at Hera, disbelieving. She quickly keyed her comm. “Fleet, this is General Syndulla. Please confirm _Hydian_ ’s data.”

Slowly, other ships reported in and the picture became very clear to Zeb. Intelligence was still on Yavin 4. Alexsandr had lied to him.

_He planned this. That’s why he came to see me: to say goodbye._

_He’s down there waiting to die and it’s too late for me to do anything about it._

_On Lothal, he promised never to leave me. If he could lie about that, what else has he lied about?_

“That _festering slag_ of a man,” Zeb hissed, absolutely furious. “He _told me_ he would be on a transport. He _told me._ ”

Hera looked at Rex and the two exchanged worried shrugs. “Zeb, if you want to take the _Phantom II_ …” she started, but Chopper warbled an alarm.

She bent over the scanner, finger on Yavin 4. 

Zeb saw exactly what the alarm was for.

“It’s here,” Rex said slowly. 

There, on the scanner, a battlestation nearly as big as the moon – the same gigantic battlestation they’d seen at Scarif – hung in space, the gas giant Yavin the only shield between its fourth moon and the Death Star.

Hera manipulated the comm, sending a hard-to-detect text pulse to all the ships in the fleet, ordering comm silence. The last thing they needed was for the Empire to come after them as well.

Zeb couldn’t breathe. He clung to the control panel, unaware he was scratching the metal with his claws. He was caught between the sometimes-conflicting, sometimes-complementary emotions of terror and rage.

There was rage that Alexsandr lied to him about such a thing. Rage that his soulmate was choosing to die with no concern for Zeb’s future without him. Rage that Alexsandr _still_ felt, in some way, that he was less deserving of life than others.

And then there was the utter terror that he’d never get to yell at Alexsandr for all those things.

“Zeb!” Hera’s voice cut through the cacophony in his mind. “Zeb! Stop, you’re going to break something!”

Zeb looked down. The control panel was dented where he gripped it tightly and he was coming dangerously close to damaging instruments, not just the metal surrounding them.

He let go, leaning back in his seat and holding his hands in the air. He tried to apologize, but nothing came out but “Alexsandr…”

“I know, Zeb,” Hera said sympathetically. “But there’s nothing we can do now except hope. It’s all in the hands of Wedge and Mart and the other pilots.”

Zeb noticed fear in Hera’s eyes, too, realizing that with a few exceptions – Hobbie Klivian in med bay, for example – all the pilots she’d trained on Atollon and brought to Yavin 4 were facing down that behemoth.

Breathing deeply, Zeb forced his fury and fear to the back of his mind. It was still there, still clawing away at his composure, but he refused to let it control him. There were people other than Alexsandr to care about right in front of him and as much as it destroyed him to think about, there truly was nothing they could do.

He reached out and placed a hand over Hera’s. She squeezed one of his fingers, all she could grip in one hand, and they locked eyes, sharing a moment of profound worry.

“There’s a chance,” he said, trying to be helpful. “If anyone can make the shot, it’s your guys, Hera.”

She nodded, eyes fixed once more on the scanner. Rex leaned over and adjusted the comm frequency so they could hear the battle.

It was brutal. Pilots were being shot down left and right. The first attempt at hitting the thermal exhaust port: failed. The whole Y-wing bomber squadron: killed. Most of the X-wings: destroyed.

Zeb squeezed Hera’s hand tighter as each pilot fell, as the battlestation orbited Yavin, coming closer and closer to destroying the moon and the man Zeb held most dear.

And then there were three pilots left: Wedge, a new kid named Biggs, and the Skywalker boy who showed up with the _Millennium Falcon._

_“I’m hit! I can’t stay with you!”_

_“Get clear, Wedge. You can’t do any more good back there!”_

_“Sorry!”_

A tiny blip on the scanner peeled off from the Death Star. Wedge.

There were two pilots left.

And then one.

Just Skywalker. A raw kid from Tatooine, full of enthusiasm and joy, that might or might not be Force sensitive.

The whole Rebellion rode on his shoulders.

Everyone in the cockpit was silent and still, even Chopper. Zeb held his breath, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the call that Skywalker missed, too. Waiting for the comm static as the Death Star destroyed Yavin 4. 

It never came.

_“You’re all clear, kid! Now let’s blow this thing and go home!”_

Zeb’s eyes shot open, seeking out the bright dot that was Yavin.

Just barely, he thought, he could make out the even brighter explosion caused by the Death Star exploding.

“Karabast,” he whispered, feeling weak as all the tension bled out of his muscles. “The kid did it. He really did it.”

 _Whoops_ and whistles sounded through the comm as the fleet broke silence to cheer.

Zeb looked at Hera, who nodded, tears in her eyes. “But at what cost?” she whispered.

Without waiting, Zeb stood and pulled Hera into a hug. All those pilots that died… they’d all been her friends and colleagues. Zeb had only known a few of them, but Hera had taught them, built them from the ground up. He imagined she felt responsible for the ones who lived and died.

Hera clung to Zeb, trying to be stoic, but they’d all lost so much in such a short amount of time, especially Hera. He rubbed her back while she cried.

Rex leaned in, looking around Zeb. “Hera, looks like there are three ships returning to Yavin 4: the _Falcon_ , Skywalker, and Antilles.”

Hera leaned back, still resting her forehead against Zeb’s chest. “Wedge. Out of all of the Phoenix pilots, only Wedge made it.”

“Well, Hobbie, too,” Rex pointed out. “He’ll be able to fly again once the med bay clears him.”

She wiped her tears away. “That’s two. I trained dozens of pilots and there are only two left.”

“Look what they went up against,” Zeb said softly. “Hera, it’s _because_ of the pilots you trained that any of us are still here. They flew against something impossible and _won_.”

Hera nodded and sat back down. She closed her eyes and straightened her back and Zeb watched her transform from someone in mourning into a Rebellion general. “We’ve been out here long enough,” she said stiffly. “Zeb, signal the fleet.”

Later, alone, Hera would return to her grief, as she had for Kanan and Ezra. But at that moment, the Rebellion needed a leader and she refused to let anyone down. Zeb admired that ability, but there were so many things to admire about Hera Syndulla. “On it,” he said, returning to the copilot’s chair.

Zeb punched the transmit button. “ _Ghost_ to Alliance Fleet, it’s time to go home.”

Alexsandr couldn’t move from his spot just outside the Massassi temple. It was if his legs – both the real and cybernetic ones – had forgotten how to work.

There, in the sky above, was what looked like the galaxy’s biggest firework, just hanging there. The afterimage of the explosion was seared into the back of Alexsandr’s eyelids, all he could see when he closed his eyes.

The surviving pilots had landed ten minutes ago and even from this distance, Alexsandr could hear Skywalker being cheered and fêted in the mostly empty snubfighter hangar. Most of those who’d stayed behind were in there, rejoicing over their survival. 

A few, like Alexsandr, were waiting outside for the fleet to return.

At first one ship, then another, then a few more, appeared in the sky, gray silhouettes against the blue sky. They came in to land, becoming more solid, more real, the closer they flew to the surface of the moon.

None of them were the right shape, though. 

Alexsandr held his breath. _Surely nothing happened out there…?_

Then, suddenly, there it was: the distinctive form of the _Ghost_ , sailing in as if it were floating, not flying, under Hera’s expert hand. As if it weren’t packed to the brim with people and supplies.

Able to move and breathe once more, Alexsandr found himself in the middle of a flood of beings, all off-loading from fleet ships and rushing inside to join the celebrations. Slowly, meticulously, he made his way upstream and to the _Ghost_ ’s usual bay.

The ramp was down, the hold emptied of people, by the time he got there.

Alexsandr’s heart stuttered as Zeb slid down the ladder and started out of the hold.

Alexsandr’s heart _stopped_ at the look Zeb gave him.

Zeb stalked over to him, eyes narrowed like a predatory beast, muttering obscenities in a multitude of languages. “You karking piece of Core slime,” he growled once he was less than a meter from Alexsandr. “You _lied_ to me.”

“Would you have left if I told you Intelligence was going to stay?” Alexsandr asked, trying not to give any ground. “I was needed here, to keep combing through the blueprints just in case there was another way to destroy the Death Star.”

Zeb took a step closer, looming large over Alexsandr and forcing him to look nearly straight upwards. “But you would have stayed anyway, wouldn’t you?” he said, more seriously than Alexsandr had ever heard him. “If there’s a chance for self-sacrifice, then Alexsandr Kallus is going to take it. Aren’t you?”

The lasat’s words twisted Alexsandr’s lungs in his chest, making breathing impossible. “Zeb…”

“No, Alexsandr,” Zeb argued, ears laid back, twitching slightly in anger, and green eyes flashing. “ _No_. You don’t get to deny that you’ve got this complex. First it was staying with the Empire until Thrawn discovered you. Then you got yourself maimed and you were going to give up then, too. I’m willing to bet that if I hadn’t gone after Rukh on Lothal, _you_ would have found a way to and you would have let yourself die in those reactors. And now, when you _knew_ you had a spot on the _Ghost,_ you chose to stay behind. Kara-kriffing-bast, Alexsandr, _do you know what it would do to me if you died_?”

There were tears in Alexsandr’s eyes. He wasn’t sure when they’d shown up, but they were there and he was losing the battle to keep them from falling. “Zeb, I–”

“I said _no_ , Alexsandr. I don’t care what excuse you have this time, why you think it was necessary for you to want to die. All I want from you now is your attention.” Zeb reached out and grabbed Alexsandr by the shoulders, shaking him as he spoke. “I _love you._ I want us to spend our lives together. If one of us dies in battle, I can accept it – death happens in war – but my plan is to live past this war. I hope to live a very long life with you next to me, so I don’t appreciate you trying to put yourself in harm’s way more than you need to. What’s going to happen to me if you die, huh? You’re just going to leave me alone in the galaxy? No soulmate, no homeworld, and only a couple of family members left? Alexsandr, you would kill me, too, if you let yourself die.”

Alexsandr was vaguely aware that people had stopped around them, were gathering to listen to Zeb’s raging, and he wanted to be embarrassed, but the only emotion he could tap into was shame.

Shame that he hadn’t once truly considered Zeb’s feelings. Shame that he’d let his soulmate down so many times. Shame that he wasn’t a better man.

Zeb let go of his shoulders and slumped, looking as tired and empty as he had on Lothal. “I would ask you to promise me not to do this again, but I don’t know if I can trust you.”

In utter disgrace and dishonor, Alexsandr stood there and watched Zeb walk back to the _Ghost_ , back to Hera and Rex.

Back to the people who hadn’t failed him.

Alexsandr couldn’t go back to the temple. He couldn’t stand to be around all that joy.

Instead, he headed down the jungle path again. This time, he passed the clearing where he and Zeb sparred, making his way to the spot where he’d hidden once before, the small glade by the river where Zeb had taken away his crutch.

He felt like he needed the crutch again: walking was hard when his heart was so broken. His limbs were heavy, feet dragging against the loamy dirt, sleeves catching on vines and branches.

It took the better part of two hours, but Alexsandr reached the spot. He could almost breathe again as he leaned against one of the Massassi trees; he could almost feel his extremities again as he slid down its rough bark to sit on the ground.

Everything Zeb had accused him of was correct. Alexsandr had no defense.

He’d been selfish, oh so selfish, thinking only of his own desire to earn his redemption, to deserve his second chance.

It had never occurred to him that _Zeb_ deserved his own second chance.

When Zeb held a grudge, he really held a grudge.

As much as his heart wanted to forgive Alexsandr, his head knew he couldn’t. Alexsandr was too cavalier with his life and had no qualms about lying to get himself closer to his own destruction.

_Can I give my heart wholly to someone like that? Should I pull back and let him go? Can I forgive myself if something happens to him? Would he even let me save him from himself?_

Zeb wished he had the answers. As it was, he spent much of his time working on the _Ghost_ again, moping as he did so. He brushed off both Hera and Rex anytime they tried to strike up a conversation that veered anywhere near a topic deeper than pleasantries. This was something he needed to work out for himself.

Of course, on a ship like the _Ghost_ , not participating in conversations didn’t mean you weren’t privy to them anyway.

Zeb lay in his bunk early one morning, staring at the posters Ezra had put up, listening as Hera and Rex talked in the common room. They weren’t being loud; they simply didn’t know how keen Zeb’s hearing actually was.

“Did you see Kallus today?” Hera asked. “He’s looking terrible. I don’t think he’s slept or eaten since the battle.”

Zeb’s ears perked up at the mention of Alexsandr. Not sleeping or eating didn’t sound too good, but it also wasn’t terribly out of character. And maybe, just a little, deep down, a tiny part of Zeb was happy to hear that Alexsandr was as miserable as he was.

“Well, he has been busy,” Rex pointed out. “They’re still trying to find us a place to go.”

Right, the often-discussed Next Move. A new base for the Rebellion since the Empire knew about Yavin 4 and would probably attack as soon as they regrouped. It was Intelligence’s job to find one. Zeb was curious where they’d end up, but not curious enough to seek out Alexsandr and ask him.

“You know it’s not just that. Zeb, too. I haven’t seen him this angry for this long since he first joined the crew.”

“Hera, you can’t fix it for them.”

“I _know_ that. Doesn’t stop me from worrying about them. They had something so special, it seemed like. They went through things Kanan and I never dreamed of. I’ve never seen anything else like it.”

Zeb felt a pang at Hera’s words. He’d thought they had something special, too.

“You can’t expect Zeb to just forgive Kallus for lying to him, though.”

 _Kriffing straight, Rex._ Zeb sighed. He could stay there and listen to himself as the topic of choice, or he could get up and get started for the day. Grabbing onto the side of the bunks, he hauled himself out of bed, taking a second to comb his beard before heading out into the ship.

Rex and Hera fell silent as his door slid open. Pretending he hadn’t heard them, Zeb waved and set off on the short hike to the base mess. Breakfast sounded like a solid plan, then he could get started on optimizing the hyperdrive like he’d promised Hera. That ought to take him a good couple of days, if he paced himself.

Breakfast on Yavin 4 wasn’t much, mostly fruits and cereals, though there was a meat patty of an unidentified source that Zeb had grown fond of. He piled some waffles on his plate as well and found a seat by himself.

Ever since the battle and his subsequent outburst in the middle of the landing tarmac, most of the Rebellion had been giving him a wide berth.

 _Most_ of the Rebellion, that was. Zeb hadn’t been sitting long before Hobbie – fresh out of the med bay with a brand new cybernetic left arm – joined him, followed by the rest of the surviving pilot clique: Wedge and the new kid, Luke Skywalker.

“Hey, Zeb!” said Hobbie, leaning forward, elbows on the table. The three pilots were squeezed together on the bench across from Zeb, almost as if they were one being.

Zeb grunted and took a sip of his caf. He wasn’t really in the mood to chat.

“Zeb, have you met Luke?” asked Wedge, grinning happily. A little _too_ happily, if Zeb was any judge – and Luke was grinning just as goofily. Something was obviously up between those two.

Zeb didn’t care, not really. His ears twitched in irritation. “Good flying, kid,” he said by way of greeting.

“I hear you were part of the group behind Lothal,” Luke said eagerly. “Wedge told me all about it.”

“Has he?” Zeb gave a short laugh. “Don’t let him tell you that he was there, too. You pilots are all braggarts.”

“Hey!” Hobbie protested, kicking him under the table. “I have earned my reputation, thank you.”

“Yeah, for _crashing_ ,” said Wedge, motioning to Hobbie’s arm. He looked back at Zeb. “Think Hera will let Luke check out the _Ghost_ and maybe give him some pointers?”

Zeb studied Luke for a moment. The kid – nearly grown by human standards, but still young by lasat ones – peered back at him through tousled sandy hair. His eyes were almost as blue as Ezra’s, which made Zeb miss his little brother all the more; hearing the gossip that Luke was Force sensitive just made the hurt worse, as Zeb wished Kanan were here to help train him, too. He’d remind Hera of Kanan and Ezra too, so Zeb was cautious when answering. “Be prepared for her to be too busy,” he warned. “She’s helping plan the evacuation.”

“Oh yeah.” Wedge slumped a little.

Luke elbowed him. “It’s okay, Wedge. You’ll get a chance to introduce me to her later.”

“Hey, Zeb, you going to finish that?” Hobbie asked, pointing to the plate of waffles. 

The waffles had gone untouched for a few minutes and Zeb didn’t feel particularly hungry any more, so he pushed the plate across to Hobbie.

The pilots dug in as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Zeb shook his head, smiling for once. 

“There’s more on the line, guys,” he said. “Don’t fight over my scraps.”

Leaving the pilots to their food, Zeb wandered out of the mess and through the temple, mentally planning his work on the hyperdrive.

“Garazeb Orrelios!”

He stopped in his tracks, attention back in the present. There, just across the way, between him and the _Ghost_ , stood Alexsandr.

…Alexsandr holding both their bo-rifles…?

Before Zeb could try and figure out how Alexsandr got into his cabin, the human tossed Zeb’s bo-rifle at him. Zeb caught it deftly.

“We need to talk,” Alexsandr said. “Let’s go spar.”

Zeb shook his head. “Alexsandr, I don’t have time. I have work to do.”

“I said we need to talk,” Alexsandr repeated, placing emphasis on each word. “We can do that in the jungle or we can do it here. It’s up to you.”

Zeb bared his teeth. “ _I said_ I don’t have time. Sparring isn’t going to fix this, you know.”

“We’ll see.” Alexsandr planted his feet, shoulder-width apart, bo-rifle in hand, poised ready to extend the staff ends.

Rolling his eyes at Alexsandr’s dramatics, Zeb slung his bo-rifle over his shoulder and walked past his soulmate, heading for his bunk. Forget the hyperdrive; he needed a nap now.

“YOU! LASAT! _”_ boomed Alexsandr, voice deep and forceful as it had been in his Imperial days, startling Zeb. “ _FACE ME!_ ”

Zeb froze in place, Alexsandr’s voice burning in his ears. Those had been his first words to Zeb, a central facet of Zeb’s soulmate dreams. Words he’d never forget.

Words he never thought he’d hear again.

“What did you say?” he snarled, spinning where he stood.

Alexsandr glared right back at him. “I said, _face me_!” His bo-rifle sprung to life, golden electricity crackling at its ends. Zeb had half a second to note that Alexsandr’s hair, loose and wild-looking as if he hadn’t bothered to groom it, matched the lightning before Alexsandr ran at him.

Zeb barely got his bo-rifle off his shoulder in time, but instinct stepped in and he blocked Alexsandr’s impassioned attack. “What the kriff?” he growled, inches from his soulmate’s face for the first time in days.

“I need you to listen to me,” hissed Alexsandr, pressing every gram of his weight against Zeb. “I had to catch you somehow, since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Zeb took a sudden step back, nearly making Alexsandr stumble, but the man was good, _very_ good. “I’ve been avoiding you because I _don’t_ want to talk!” He lunged at Alexsandr, who knocked his attack aside. “How did you get my bo-rifle?”

“It’s always wise to be considerate of droids,” Alexsandr answered sagely, the ghost of a smile on his face. It was such a non-Imperial sentiment that it surprised Zeb.

“ _Chopper,_ ” he said, seething. Out of the corner of his eyes, Zeb became aware of a crowd gathering to watch them battle. _Probably here to see if we actually kill each other this time. Probably have bets going on this, too. Bloodthirsty motherkriffers._

“Chopper,” Alexsandr confirmed. They stood a meter apart, circling each other, carnivores waiting to pounce on their prey.

“Fine,” spat Zeb. “I’m here. We’re sparring. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“That you’re right.” 

The words caught Zeb off-guard and _he_ stumbled this time, allowing Alexsandr to nearly land a blow on his shoulder. He rolled out of the way just in time for the other bo-rifle to slam into the ground, centimeters away. Recovering, he got to his feet. “Often am. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“I didn’t think about you!” Alexsandr said, pulling back to regroup. He took a few steps back, pushing hair out of his face. “All this time, I’ve been thinking about myself. What I had that I didn’t deserve. How I needed to earn those rewards. How I needed to work towards redeeming my actions as an Imperial. How I needed to _suffer_ to make my choice mean something.”

Zeb stood still, drawn to full height and bulk, waiting for Alexsandr’s next attack. “Do you know how _stupid_ you sound? You don’t _earn_ redemption, Alexsandr. That’s impossible. You change your behavior and you _live_ it.”

Alexsandr ran at him again. “I’ve figured that out. You were right about another thing, too.”

“Oh?” Using all his strength, Zeb forced Alexsandr back a step. The man’s legs shook under the pressure; Zeb almost felt bad, almost let up, but he was still too angry.

“The Ashla answers when you pray.”

“Yeah? Then how come you never came to _talk_ to me when you felt like you needed to be an idiot? Huh, Alexsandr? Because I prayed for that _a lot_.” Zeb reset his grip on the bo-rifle, the solid weight familiar in his hands, the movements of their fight feeling more like an old dance than a battle.

Alexsandr dropped low, suddenly, sweeping his bo-rifle out. Zeb tried to jump over it but wasn’t quick enough; the electricity stung his ankle, as did the force of the blow. “I prayed for understanding,” he said. “I asked why I wasn’t good enough to deserve you. I asked what I needed to do to deserve the second chance at life you granted me.”

“And the Ashla answered _that_?”

“Yes,” said Alexsandr as if he didn’t hear the scorn in Zeb’s voice. “It told me, quite clearly, that I was being moronic.”

“I could have told you that.” Zeb held his bo-rifle up in a guarded position, protecting himself from whatever Alexsandr’s next assault would be.

Alexsandr didn’t attack, however. He stood up straight, leaving himself completely vulnerable. “It told me that no matter if I deserved a second chance or not, _you_ did, and that it wasn’t my place to question our soul bond. If I love you, _if I truly love you_ , then I need to let go of my fixation on my own failings. I need to focus on giving you what you deserve instead.” He powered down the bo-rifle and held his arms out as if inviting Zeb to rush at him. “And I want to do that, Zeb. I want the chance to make you first in my life, as you made me first in yours, every day for the rest of our lives. I want to earn your trust again. I want you back in my life so desperately it makes me sick. I don’t care how many people know it.”

Realizing Alexsandr was through fighting – and through with his planned speech – Zeb hit the switch to turn off and collapse his own bo-rifle. Looking around properly for the first time, he saw a considerable crowd had gathered. The three pilots who’d bugged him at breakfast, most of the maintenance crews, quite a few foot soldiers – even some of the Alliance leadership watched them. Generals Sato and Draven stood in the back of the group, as did the Alderaanian princess and the smugglers who’d brought her to Yavin 4. 

Draven caught Zeb’s eye and made a little ‘carry on’ motion with his hand.

“That’s a lot to throw at me, Alexsandr,” Zeb said. “Especially in public.”

“There’s a reason I suggested we go in the jungle.” Alexsandr shrugged. “I understand if you need time to think, but I needed you to know that _I know_ I was wrong.”

“Karabast,” Zeb swore, thinking as quickly as he could. Alexsandr seemed genuine. Zeb wanted to believe him, wanted to believe him so badly his heart ached. _But can I?_

Alexsandr stood there, in the middle of the tarmac, getting his breathing back under control. Golden hair fell in his equally golden eyes, eyes that were locked onto Zeb. He – and their audience – waited on Zeb’s reply. 

“ _Karabast_ ,” he repeated. _Might as well go for broke here._ “Alexsandr, I told you I love you. I told you I want to spend my life with you. I meant every word. You hurt me, though. I want to trust you, but I’m afraid that makes me a fool. Promise me, _promise me on my own life,_ that you meant what you said just now.”

Taking a hesitant step forward, Alexsandr reached a hand out in Zeb’s direction. “Garazeb Orrelios, I will swear on anything you desire that I meant what I said. I need you in my life more than I need to make myself atone. If you want me to give up my pursuit of earning forgiveness, then I will.”

“Need?” Zeb said, echoing Alexsandr’s surprised stutter from a few days before. He took a step forward as well.

“ _Need_ ,” Alexsandr confirmed, closing the distance between them. “I love you more than life itself, Zeb. I’m so sorry about everything I did. Please let me make it up to you.”

Alexsandr’s hand was still out, a peace offering and an apology. Zeb took it, gently wrapping his fingers around Alexsandr’s.

“Alexsandr Kallus, you are _so frustrating_ ,” he said quietly. “But you’re the love of my kriffin’ life and I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Mouth open just the slightest bit, Alexsandr nodded. Zeb cupped his head with both hands and bent down to kiss him.

He could ignore the cheers that erupted around them. He could ignore the fact that Alexsandr’s boss was watching them. He could ignore the fact that he would likely never hear the end of it from Rex.

Zeb couldn’t ignore how utterly wonderful it was to kiss Alexsandr again, how sweet he tasted, how he moved against Zeb’s lips, how he ran his hands over Zeb’s chest, grasping and seeking purchase through the jumpsuit, how Zeb wanted more from him than was appropriate in public.

Pulling back just a little, Zeb murmured, “Unless you object, I’m gonna kick Hera and Rex out of the _Ghost_ so we can do this properly.”

“Force,” Alexsandr breathed. “I was hoping you would say that.”

With a nod, Zeb grabbed Alexsandr’s hand once more and led him in the direction of the _Ghost._

The crowd parted before them, with the exception of Hera and Rex, who both stood there with their arms crossed and amused looks on their faces.

Zeb pulled up short in front of them, embarrassment finally reaching him. “Uh, Hera, I might not get to the hyperdrive today,” he said lamely. “Hope that’s okay.”

Hera laughed for the first time since Lothal. “Feel free to close up the ramp,” she said.

“And clean up after yourselves,” Rex added, grinning as well.

Zeb snuck a glance back at Alexsandr, whose face was bright pink.

Zeb planned to make those cheeks flush again in a few minutes, but for a completely different reason. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, leading Alexsandr onto the ship – slapping the controls to close the ramp – and into his bunk.

He pulled Alexsandr around to face him. His soulmate looked flushed and breathless, hair wild from their sparring match. Alexsandr’s eyes were wide as if he didn’t know what would happen next.

To be honest, Zeb felt much the same.

“I’ve missed you,” Alexsandr whispered. “ _Stars_ , have I missed you. Zeb, you don’t know what you mean to me.”

“I got an idea,” he said roughly, yanking Alexsandr by his shirtfront, making the man stumble forward. Once Alexsandr was in his arms, Zeb held his face one more time. “But I was thinking about something else.”

Relaxing into Zeb’s hands, Alexsandr watched him through half-lidded eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, Zeb. I need you, any way you’ll have me.”

“Well, see,” Zeb said slowly, kissing him gently. “Kissing is good and I wanna do more of it. But it’s not what lasats usually do.”

“No?” Alexsandr perked up a little. “What do you usually do?”

“Well, there’s this,” he said, rubbing his cheeks against Alexsandr’s, scenting him. “Makin’ you smell like me so everyone knows you’re mine. And then there’s this other thing, but I gotta get some clothes off you first.”

“Oh,” Alexsandr sighed.

Zeb pulled Alexsandr’s jacket off and slowly worked his orange shirt off as well. Bending over, he kissed his way down Alexsandr’s torso, paying attention to his numerous scars. He wrapped his hands around Alexsandr’s hips as he did so, teasingly brushing his thumbs over the front of Alexsandr’s pants.

“Zeb,” gasped Alexsandr. “Zeb, I– I need–”

“I know,” purred Zeb, breathing softly against Alexsandr’s stomach and grinning as the man tensed. “Do you know I’ve been dreaming about you still?”

“You– you have?” Alexsandr asked. “I haven’t had any soul bond dreams…”

“Not those kinds of dreams,” Zeb said, standing back up slowly. “The kind where I get to make you scream my name.”

“Oh.” Alexsandr fumbled at Zeb’s jumpsuit. “Oh. I– I’ve had those, too. Inconvenient in my bunkroom.”

Zeb grinned wickedly. “Oh, I like to hear that. Tell me more.”

“Thought you were going to show me what lasat like to do.”

“This lasat wants to hear about your wet dreams,” Zeb said, taking Alexsandr’s hand and showing him where the jumpsuit’s zipper started.

“I dreamt about you taking me,” Alexsandr said. “All over this ship. All over the base. Out in the jungle. Anywhere we could find privacy.”

“And?”

“And I dreamt you filled me up and I couldn’t help but scream your name.”

“So we’ve had the same dreams again,” Zeb said, huffing a laugh. “Alexsandr, let’s make at least one of those dreams come true.”

“P– please.”

Zeb grinned, nipping at Alexsandr’s neck. He loved how flustered the man was getting. To hear his soulmate, usually so eloquent, fumble for words was _hot_ in a way Zeb hadn’t expected. _To think I can bring him to this…_

“Show me,” Alexsandr said. “Show me what you were going to before you drive me mad.”

“Ah,” said Zeb, sliding down to Alexsandr’s shoulder. “See, lasats like to mark our mates. Especially those of us who are a little possessive.”

Alexsandr laughed breathily. “And you _are_ possessive.”

“Yes,” Zeb confirmed. “Like this.” He bit down on Alexsandr’s collarbone, lightly, just enough to break skin with his fangs. No sense in actually hurting him – at least not until he asked for it.

Clinging to Zeb, Alexsandr arched his back, groaning. “Zeb…”

Zeb leaned back, admiring his work – both the mark and in how debauched Alexsandr looked already, even before anyone’s pants came off. He tugged at his own jumpsuit and rolled it down to his hips.

Alexsandr dropped to the bed and Zeb leaned over him, gripping the top bunk while Alexsandr ran his fingers through Zeb’s fur, caressing his muscles and tickling his sides.

“ _Kriff,_ ” Zeb said.

“Please do,” said Alexsandr.

Zeb was happy to comply. He pushed Alexsandr back on the bed and acted out some of the dirtiest part of his dreams, eliciting moans and gasps from the man and – yes – even getting Alexsandr to scream Zeb’s name before he was done.

To be fair, Zeb also screamed Alexsandr’s name.

Sated, they lay on Zeb’s bed, Alexsandr atop Zeb, limbs intertwined. Zeb gently stroked Alexsandr’s lower back while Alexsandr idly played with the fur on his chest.

“That took long enough,” Zeb said. As he spoke, Alexsandr pressed his palm against Zeb’s chest, feeling the rumble of his voice. “Are we idiots for waiting so long?”

“Quite possibly,” Alexsandr murmured. “But would it have been as satisfying if I hadn’t apologized first?”

“It woulda been more satisfying if you hadn’t _needed_ to apologize,” Zeb said, though his tone was light. “Kriff, Alexsandr, don’t do that to me again.”

“What? Fuck you? I thought you quite liked that.”

Zeb swatted Alexsandr’s ass. “You know what I meant, ya jerk.”

Alexsandr propped himself up on his elbows and leaned down, rubbing his face against Zeb’s. “I know,” he whispered directly into Zeb’s ear, the fluttering of Alexsandr’s breath making it twitch. “And I promise, never again. I’m here to stay now.”

“You’d better be.” Zeb leaned into Alexsandr’s touch. “I worked too damn hard to get you to this point.”

“Saved me from myself, saved me from the Empire, saved me from dying, saved me from ruining our relationship,” Alexsandr listed off. “Where would I be without you, Garazeb Orrelios?”

“Nowhere near as nice as my bed,” he joked, using his free hand to lead Alexsandr’s face back down for another kiss.

“Nowhere near as nice as your arms,” Alexsandr agreed. He lay back down, head on Zeb’s shoulder.

Zeb leaned back, too, and took a deep breath. The room smelled of Alexsandr and sex and he couldn’t get enough of it. He laughed shallowly.

“What?” Alexsandr asked, starting to sound tired.

“Jus’ thinking. If you’d told me three years ago when we first met that we’d be lovers, I’d’ve shot you with my bo-rifle.”

“As I recall, you tried to do that anyway,” Alexsandr pointed out.

“Self-defense,” Zeb argued. “But all that time, all those dreams, even after we met; I never once thought we’d end up here. I thought for sure we’d kill each other.”

“We might yet, if you don’t let me get some sleep,” Alexsandr threatened good-naturedly.

Zeb laughed heartily at that. “Okay. Fine. Get some sleep, love.”

“Love?” Alexsandr asked. “I could get used to that.”

“Plan on it,” Zeb said. “Plan on hearing it for the rest of your life, Alexsandr Kallus, my love. I’m not letting you get away from me, even if you go full idiot again.”

Alexsandr smiled into Zeb’s fur. “I believe you. I believe you’ll never let me fall. You didn’t on Bahryn and you won’t now.”

Zeb craned his neck just enough to kiss the top of Alexsandr’s head.

_Funny how dreams come true, isn’t it?_


	13. Epilogue

Horns sounded deep into the forest. Closer to the village, the reverberations of drumbeats filled the air.

Alexsandr leaned back against a giant tree, taking a sip of the Ewoks’ bright pink berry liquor. It was a little overly sugared, but not bad, and he’d probably had too much of it already.

But why shouldn’t he? The Rebellion had won. The Emperor was dead. He and Zeb had survived the war; everything after the celebration would just be mopping up.

He smiled warmly, watching Zeb in the middle of the Ewoks and celebrating Rebels, dancing with little Jacen. They’d had four wonderful, if chaotic, years together and he was still just as madly in love with his soulmate as he had been on Yavin 4, though the war sometimes made it seem longer.

Next to him, Hera took another sip of her drink as well and nudged Alexsandr with her shoulder. “He’s good with him, isn’t he? Kids in general seem to love Zeb.”

Alexsandr nodded. Jacen wasn’t the Rebellion’s only child and they all _did_ seem to enjoy playing with Zeb. No wonder, since the lasat let them climb his arms and back and would swing them around to peals of laughter.

“It reminds me why we fought all this time,” he admitted. “So that kids like Jacen have a free galaxy to grow up in.” _So that Zeb can finally know peace_ , he added, a silent note for his own satisfaction.

“Just think,” she said, watching him take a larger sip. “You and Zeb can retire now, adopt kids of your own.”

Alexsandr spluttered and Hera giggled.

“Come on, Kal, you know Zeb wants a big family. He always has.”

“I was under the impression he had you and Jacen,” Alexsandr said, trying to regain his dignity despite the burning in his throat and nose. 

Hera rolled her eyes. “And you. You’re family, too. How many times do I have to say it?”

Warmth spread through Alexsandr’s chest. “At least one more time. You know I like hearing it.”

Hera laughed again and punched Alexsandr’s arm. “For starting out as such an asshole Imperial, you sure came around,” she said. “I can’t imagine our family without you now.”

“I can’t imagine _being_ without you all now,” Alexsandr admitted. “Rex included, even if he gives us hell.”

Hera crossed her arms and settled back against the tree, a satisfied expression on her face. “We’ve had some tough times, this family, but we pulled through. And I think I may be the better for it, even if…”

 _Even if she still misses Kanan_ , Alexsandr filled in. He leaned into her shoulder. “Hera, you’ve _always_ been the better of us. Jacen’s lucky to have you as his mother.”

“And Zeb’s lucky to have you as his soulmate,” she shot back.

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m the lucky one.”

Out amongst the dancers, Zeb looked over at them and waved. “Alex!” he called, a little drunkenly. “Get yer ass out here!”

“I’ll hold your drink,” Hera offered. “Though I don’t guarantee I won’t finish it off before you get back.”

“Then you’ll just owe me one.” Alexsandr pushed off the tree and waded through the throng of Ewoks until he reached Zeb and Jacen. He knelt and Jacen barreled into his arms, almost ramming Alexsandr’s chin with his head in his enthusiasm.

“Unca Alex! We’re dancing!”

“I saw that,” Alexsandr said solemnly. “Are you having fun?”

Jacen nodded enthusiastically, green hair flopping as he did so. “Are you gonna dance with us?”

“He’d better,” rumbled Zeb. “Or I won’t be dancing with him before bed.”

Alexsandr laughed. “Oh, is that how it is?”

“Mm,” Zeb hummed. “That’s how it is.”

“Well, then. Jacen, it looks like I have to dance with your Uncle Zeb now. Will you excuse us?”

Zeb’s innuendo had obviously gone over the boy’s head – thankfully – but he nodded again. Alexsandr set him down and watched him run over to his mother.

A large hand settled on Alexsandr’s shoulder, turning him around. He faced Zeb with an indulgent smile.

“You want _me_ to dance? In front of people?” he teased.

“You’ll spar in front of people. What’s so different about dancing?” Zeb reasoned. He grinned wickedly. “Still gets ya all riled up and ready to go.”

Alexsandr took one of Zeb’s hands and slid his free one around to squeeze Zeb’s ass through the jumpsuit. “And _that_ , I suppose, is your main goal tonight?”

“Seemed like a pretty good one,” Zeb said agreeably, pulling Alexsandr to him and starting to dance again. “You object?”

“I can’t say that I do.”

“Good.” Zeb paused, still smiling broadly enough to show his fangs. “You ever think we’d be here?”

“Dancing with Ewoks? No.” Alexsandr grinned, knowing that wasn’t what Zeb was really asking.

“You laser brain. I mean this. The end of the war. Freedom. Peace. Together.”

Alexsandr let Zeb swing and dip him before he answered. “If anyone was going to make it, I thought it would be you,” he said. “And I assumed you would drag me with you by sheer force of will.”

“Kriffing straight.” Alexsandr thought Zeb might try to kiss him then – it certainly would fit his personality – but Zeb studied him quietly instead. “I got something to show ya,” he said after a moment.

“Zeb, if you’re talking about your–”

Laughing, Zeb shook his head. “I know you’re familiar with _that_. No. I know I yelled at you for keeping secrets, but I’ve kept one from you. And as soon as we can get our own ship, I’ve got a place I wanna take you.”

Alexsandr was shocked. He’d had no clue Zeb was keeping a secret of any sort; the lasat was usually so open and honest with him. “A place?”

“You’ll like it,” Zeb promised. He slowed his dancing, pulling Alexsandr close to him as if they were listening to a slow song, not upbeat drumming. “I’d tell you all about it now, but I want it to be a surprise. You trust me?”

“Only with my heart,” Alexsandr answered. “Only with my entire being.”

Zeb leaned in and looked him in the eye. “Look at you being all sappy.”

“Shush.” Alexsandr blushed. “You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, I do.” Zeb turned their dance pose into a hug. “And I love you, too, Alexsandr Kallus, here at the end of the war and the start of our lives together.”

Alexsandr reached up and pulled Zeb down into a kiss. “From here until forever, is that what you’re saying?” he asked quietly.

“That sounds like something you’d ask at a wedding,” Zeb said.

“It is,” Alexsandr confirmed. “If you’ll have me.”

Zeb kissed him again, hands wrapped fully around Alexsandr’s waist. “I’ll have ya, Alexsandr. Today and every day until I die.”

“Which won’t be for a very long time,” Alexsandr promised. “I’ll follow you anywhere, Garazeb. To this mystery place or to the ends of the galaxy.”

“Even if they’re one and the same?”

“Even if.”

“Good,” said Zeb. “Now that we’ve established that, you wanna see if we can find Admiral Ackbar or someone to marry us properly? Because I don’t wanna wait any longer.”

“I wouldn’t want to make you.” Alexsandr ran his hand down Zeb’s arm and intertwined their fingers. He smiled, indulging himself in a long look at his lover’s face. “Let’s go start our lives. Together, like we’ve always dreamt of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this is really over. 
> 
> (Or is it? I might have 'verse ideas if there is interest.)
> 
> Thank y'all for coming on this ride with me!

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr and flail over Rebels and Kalluzeb! [hixystix](https://hixystix.tumblr.com/) is my main blog, and [x-wing-junkie](https://x-wing-junkie.tumblr.com/) is my _Star Wars_ blog. New friends always welcome!


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